


Life Happens Fast

by Ozymanreis



Series: The Other Game [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sheriarty - Freeform, Some Plot, Tags would give away spoilers!, jimlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-18 03:31:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1413442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozymanreis/pseuds/Ozymanreis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been six months since Moriarty's return, and Sherlock is loving every minute of it. </p><p>But it's difficult to overlook how inexperienced our favorite detective is with relationships... how will James continue his romantic education?</p><p>Sequel to "The Other Game" and "What He Values." Could be read as a stand-alone, but you will miss a few things!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Talk

**Author's Note:**

> I'm actually pretty excited about this, because it's the first in my fic-arc that has been completely up to me! I was super glad to orchestrate the last two around the actual cannon, but now is my time! I really hope you enjoy reading this, because I had tons of fun writing it! ;)

"Do you like kids?" Moriarty asked, seemingly absent-mindedly.

But Sherlock knew better — after long enough, it was easy to pick up on James' "fake casual" voice. _What are you up to, my dear?_ The sleuth thought, trying as best as he could to parse out subtext. 

Until this unexpected question, it had been a fairly normal afternoon. There were no cases available for Sherlock at the Yard, and James had taken a break from his job, devoting more time to Sherlock ("Sebastian can handle it… at least for a while," Moriarty had said dismissively a few months back, "You're more important right now.").

It had been about half a year since their reunion. They had been living together at 221B, John now living with Mary, soon to have their own baby. Everyone had been pretty absorbed in their coupling — it seemed like a nice arrangement. But despite spending almost every waking (and sleeping) second together, it still wasn't enough for the consultants. Outside, it was a cold winter's day, and to combat it, they had been watching some crap television, nestled together on the couch, under a blanket. 

Actually, it was _too_ normal for the mischievous pair's liking. Sherlock hoped that the question was innocuous, and only meant to break up the monotony. "Empirically, yes." He responded, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. 

"You know what I meant."

"I'm sorry, was there some connotation…?" 

Of course Sherlock _knew_ , he just wasn't sure how to approach it. James could see past it, and sighed, "Would you ever consider _having_ children? Or one. Any amount at all, really."

"Um…" No one had ever asked the detective this. His parents had correctly surmised Mycroft would never have any, and thus the responsibility of grandchildren fell on Sherlock. But he hadn't given it any thought in years, "I don't believe I have… considered it, I mean."

"Ah, okay." Jim said dismissively, re-focusing on the TV. 

"Why, have you?" _Clearly, this is where he wants the conversation to go_.

"I have."

"And…?" _He's going to make me fish for answers…cruel._

"I think I'd like at least one. Leave my mark in this world, make sure there is at least one other genius to take my place, teach the poor thing everything I know."

"So you've thought about it _a lot._ "

"Maybe."

The conversation died off for a few hours, the only noises coming from the trashy talk shows, and occasionally erratic breathing when the two would aggressively kiss. _Never question that I missed you_ , Sherlock thought, but couldn't get the nagging feeling out of his head that Moriarty was gunning to have the "relationship talk." 

 _Would I want to have kids with Jim?_ He considered, no longer able to ignore the concept, _It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world…_ _And I get along with children pretty well, considering I still_ am _one…_  

"Did I get to you, darling?" Jim asking, flashing a crooked smile. 

"Stop doing that." Sherlock spat.

"Doing what?"

"Shut up! You know what I'm talking about! That _thing_ you do when you _always_ know what I'm thinking!"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, my love. The look on your face just got so… distant, I _had_ to know what was on your mind." Moriarty leaned in for a kiss, but Sherlock backed away, feeling defensive, "Why don't you just tell me what _you're_ thinking?"

"I was just trying to start a conversation with you."

" _No_. You are _made_ of ulterior motives. So what is it this time?" 

James sighed, clicking "mute" on the remote, "Well, as much as I enjoy our relationship the way it is, there does come a time when we need to have certain… exchanges." 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I already told you how I feel. I tell you almost daily now. I love you. I. Love. You. _I love you_."

"Aww, that's sweet dear, but that's just the beginning."

"Dull."

"Oh, I know, I hate the structure that the _ordinary_ peoplehave set. But they do have something going for them; it's a good idea to be on the same page as the person you're going to be with _forever_." He put the stress on the last word almost threateningly — Sherlock did demand _never_ being parted, and Moriarty was more than happy to fulfill this desire. 

But Sherlock, as it turned out, was exceptionally unaware of how to proceed with relationships. While they were far from a typical couple, there were elements present that couldn't be ignored. And as of yet, they hadn't discussed the basics of having a future together. 

"Okay… so why are you asking about children?"

"It's a key division amongst couples — procreate or don't. Raise a family together, or have more money to spend on nieces and nephews. Whether or not a differing opinion on this issue is enough to break them up."

"And is it?"

"What?"

"Enough to break us up."

"Are you taking a definitive stance against having children, then?"

"I haven't made a choice yet. But how important it is to you could end up affecting my decision."

James took a moment to consider it, "It wouldn't be a deal-breaker if you didn't, my pet. You'll always be first in my heart. And there are _many_ downsides to having a kid in my line of work. But I'd be a bit… disappointed."

The last line hit Sherlock particularly hard — of all the things he had tried avoiding in his life, disappointing James was top priority. 

At times, Sherlock had considered having children, but the idea had always been so far-off. Until very recently, he had never even been in a serious romantic relationship. So whenever he pictured children… he hadn't a face to ascribe to his partner. And now, that face being Moriarty… _I don't know which of us would be a_ worse _parent_. He sighed. _But as I've seen… neither of us is incapable of adapting._

"Say I wanted to… do we need to have this conversation _now_?" 

"Well, let's face it, honey… we aren't getting any younger." 

"And?"

"If we wait much longer, we'll be in our sixties when our child turns 18!" 

Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek — the idea of being old enough to be a grandparent while their child was just starting out in the world wasn't particularly appealing. Yet, he didn't quite feel ready to be a parent. Then again, he was in his late 30s… he didn't exactly have all the time in the world to "grow up." Perhaps, _yes_ , it was time. 

"It's just…" Sherlock began, "I've never had anything so entirely dependent on me before… I fear I wouldn't exactly be the best of parents. It might be a bad idea to leave anything in my care. And besides that… the child would look to _me_ on how to act. I'm not the best role model." 

Moriarty flashed all of his teeth, "It would have _me_ as well, remember?" Sherlock shot an incredulous look, "Exactly my point." They giggled together, considering what it'd be like to have _another_ one of them running around. 

"Alright," Sherlock said, holding James closer, "So… how would we go about having this child? Adoption?"

"Oh heavens no!" Moriarty cried, completely offended, "Nothing that random. What if we ended up with an _ordinary_ child? Which, more than likely, we would."

"Well, what then? I can't exactly get you _pregnant_ …" 

"I _may_ have looked into other, more realistic, options." James said, batting his eyelashes. 

 _Oh, don't give me the innocent act_ , Sherlock thought, _Clearly, you've been thinking about this quite a long time._ "Enlighten me."

It was a long night, but Sherlock was utterly fascinated with the scientific advances James had researched. Of course the detective had been aware of surrogacy, but he had thought it was limited to using the host's DNA and one of theirs. That idea didn't sit well with either of them, though they agreed that it was more important to Moriarty for the child to be genetically his. 

"But that doesn't need to be the case!" James said excitedly, "Apparently you can turn skin cells into an ovum or sperm. But in _our_ case, we'd just need the egg." 

"So…" Sherlock reflected, "It could be both of ours."

"Essentially, yes! All we'd need was a surrogate. They would take our genetic material, make embryos, and implant them through in-vitro fertilization." 

"You _have_ thought a lot about this." 

"I spent a year without you, dear, I got bored." Moriarty shrugged, as if it were no big deal. Sherlock would beg to differ, but he was overrun by other emotions. 

"Well, now we've had this conversation. I'd be willing to have a child, and I think it'd be preferable if it was both of ours. The question now is _when,_ and then finding a willing woman." Like his eviler half had pointed out, Sherlock knew they didn't have much time before they were older than was optimal (even _now_ was pushing it, in Sherlock's opinion), but this decision shouldn't be made in one evening. 

"I leave the 'when' up to you, darling. But remember to tack on at _least_ 9 months to any date you pick. And don't worry about finding a host, I have many contacts. Some of which are young ladies that owe me a favor or two." Moriarty winked devilishly, all too comfortable with his power over people, even if he had been out of the game for a while. 

They were done talking for the night; James had given Sherlock much to think about, and probably wouldn't get an answer for a few weeks. But things were on the right path, and that was enough for now. 

As James got up to go to bed, and Sherlock set off to resume a previous experiment, the criminal yawned, "You know, with the way you never sleep, you'd be perfectly suited for raising an infant."

"Don't people usually get married _before_ they reproduce?" Sherlock said curtly, not actually meaning it as a suggestion.

Moriarty flashed that deadly grin, "All in good time, my dear." 

Needless to say, Sherlock didn't get much done that evening. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm fairly certain that they haven't approved human trials for turning cells into egg cells (though human cells into sperm has been pushed through to clinical usage), but I know it's been done successfully in mice. Technology usually exists about 5-20 years before it's COMMERCIALLY available. So either make this slightly AU in your head where it's been put into clinical usage, or let's assume Moriarty's influence has garnered him a few privileges, and he was able to push past the extensive testing ;)


	2. I'll Be Mother

It had been a month since "the talk," and James had done a dutiful job of not bringing it up. He knew Sherlock well, and presumed the best course of action was to let him stew in thought. _He'll come around._ Moriarty mused, _I predict he'll make his decision within the next three weeks. No…_ his brain hitched, _he's already made up his mind. It's just a matter of_ telling _me_. 

His text chime interrupted his quiet morning:

 

_Ready to come back to work yet, boss? -SM_

 

 _Oh Sebastian… it must be an emergency._ James thought, _Lucky for him, Sherlock has just been staring at a wall for three hours, or I'd deem my vacation_ too _exciting._ He cast a sloppy look at the detective — _yep, hasn't moved. Eyes fixed on some point in space, sitting in his chair._  

"I'm going out, dear, don't do anything too enthralling without me. Tah." Jim would've tried for a kiss goodbye, but knew Sherlock was beyond reach at this point. Out on the street, a cab was waiting for him. But this was just a decoy shell — the driver was one of _his_ employees, and getting in the back, Sebastian was cleaning a rifle.

Moran was in his forties, a bit older than James, more weathered due to his military service, but slightly less intelligent. He could carry out the worst of commands with no remorse, but wasn't the best at planning. His hands were heavily scarred, and he dressed for convenience. Unlike Moriarty, with soft, unsoiled hands, who dressed to impress. 

"What kind of mischief is on the agenda today?" He _missed_ this. Spending his days wrapped up in Sherlock was pleasing, but Moriarty longed for the sense of purpose his job brought him. _Danger_ was far more provocative than police work. Besides, if he didn't keep the wicked deeds flowing, Sherlock might grow bored of him. 

"Murders, as usual. A couple thefts. Nothing grand." Sebastian's gruff voice answered.

Moriarty puffed out his lips in a pout, "Too easy." 

Too easy, but he'd take it.

 

**[The next morning]**

 

It had been a good day. While Moriarty generally valued his beauty rest, any time he had enough to preoccupy his mind from the tedious task was excellent. Of course, he enjoyed evenings that he could fall asleep cuddling Sherlock, but that only happened roughly every third night. Last night was a second, so he hadn't missed out. 

Waltzing into their living room, James was surprised to see Sherlock wasn't still in the chair. "Sherlock?" He called out experimentally. Had he left? That didn't seem likely. The sound of quick murmuring met his ears, and James discerned Sherlock was in the kitchen. 

"— and it is for those reasons, I think I'd be willing to get started in the process." The brunette was boiling something foul on the stove, speaking rapidly.

 _I wonder how long he's been talking… must've not realized I left again._ "What process, dear?" While he probably knew what the detective was talking about, Moriarty wanted to hear the words.

Sherlock looked bewildered, "Have you been _listening_?"

James had to stifle a laugh, "No, sorry dear, I got distracted." 

Shaking his head, Sherlock answered, "IVF. I think I'm ready to begin the 'child-having' thing. At least, I'm sure the last of my reservations will be gone in nine months."

James grasped Sherlock's chin firmly between his hands, forcing him to look him dead in the eyes, expression fierce, "Are you _sure?_ There is _no_ going back on this." The fire in Moriarty's skin threatened to consume Sherlock's very being — an intensity he took on only when he was truly serious. 

"Yes." He confirmed.

"And who's going to be mother?" 

"Err… what?"

"Who's going to genetically provide the egg?"

"It doesn't matter to me. Why don't _you_ do it?" 

James clapped his hands together in delight, "Then it's settled!" Whipping out his phone, he began texting a few of his cohorts. Sherlock tried to go back to his gaseous ammonia experiment, but was interrupted by James moments later, "Found a surrogate!" 

"It's been thirty seconds!"

"We've already been through this dear, I've given it _some_ thought." 

 _Far too much thought_. Sherlock sighed internally, but he hadn't changed his mind. _So he's prepared. It's probably good to balance me out._

 

* * *

 

Soon, he found himself meeting with the would-be surrogate, Lorna. 

A lovely young thing, blond hair, blue eyes, shapely, early or mid twenties, the biologically optimal time to do things such as this. She wasn't the cleverest, but that wasn't necessary in this instance — her genetics wouldn't cross the fetus at all. 

 _Wonder how she got tangled up with James_ … Sherlock thought idly, terms of the agreement being settled by his partner. Suddenly, he was in a car with James and Lorna, the former charming a secretary over the phone. Apparently, he had gotten them in with a great fertility clinic. They would be able to test Lorna for the prerequisite health issues, start her on the necessary treatments, and take the DNA samples from both parents. 

"Life is happening, dear. Isn't it exciting?" 

"I certainly think so, Mr. Moriarty! And may I say again, I'm absolutely delighted you are including me in such an important venture in your life!" The girl was very cheerful. 

 _Mr. Moriarty?_ Sherlock didn't let his poker face slip, but this meant her affiliation with Moriarty wasn't necessarily of the discordant type. She wasn't tied to his criminal life, but to his "normal" life. Somehow, this made him uneasy. 

"But of course, my dear." James flashed a genuine-seeming smile. And maybe it _was_ real — he seemed quite gleeful, "And please," he continued, "It's 'Jim' now." She nodded aggressively, but probably would stick to her old habit. 

 _Then this is actually a "favor,"_ Sherlock thought, _What does she owe him for?_ Arriving at the clinic, he seemed to hit a time-warp: forms were filled out, magazines were read, doctors explained things, nurses took vitals, the three of them were separated for health screenings and genetic samplings. Moriarty wept some fake tears of joy, thanking the young lady — or maybe they were real, Sherlock couldn't tell anymore — and then they were back in the car, Lorna dropped off at her home. 

 

* * *

 

"I'm sure you must have questions." Moriarty said, hanging up the phone after securing the next appointment. 

"Just the one." Sherlock said, entwining their fingers, "What leads someone to want to do you a favor this extensive?" 

"Well, she is a bit young and naïve." He chuckled, kissing Sherlock's palm, "But _Professor_ Moriarty got her a prime internship with the government's department focused on engineering while she was still in college, which lead to her getting an excellent job with them almost immediately upon graduation."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows — an altruistic deed? He couldn't have thought he'd get much more from her at such an early stage in life. Unless he thought she'd be useful later. _For instance, right now…_ But did James think so far in advance? _Maybe._

"The good professor has also secured her paid pregnancy leave around her third trimester, so she isn't entirely uncompensated here." Moriarty was clearly pleased with himself. To be completely honest, Sherlock was impressed at how much pull he had out there in the world. Then the "professor" frowned, "I suppose it's also the least I can do in apology… the poor thing had _such_ a crush on me. I didn't exploit that, I assure you. No, I told her very early on what my preferences were. But I allowed her to think we were in good standing, and eventually it came to friendship, seeing as she will soon occupy a favorable position in government." 

 _It certainly pays to have connections… and_ — Sherlock shuddered at this thought — _an "ordinary" life._

"Answer me something, love," James fawned, with some urgency in his voice, "Are you happy?" This was the kind of question Sherlock would generally answer sarcastically, or with an indifferent hum. But something in his partner's eyes was _pleading_ — wordlessly communicated that this answer was _imperative_. 

"I am." Sherlock replied, "It's just happening so _fast_." 

"That happens sometimes, my dear. But we have close to ten months before the _real_ game-changer."

Arriving back at the house, James leaving for a shower, Sherlock allowed himself a small smile, _I'm going to have a family._

Little did he know, the essentially orphaned James was thinking the same thing. 

 


	3. What's in a Name?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorty today! But I really like chapters that help establish the relationship and feelings... (spoiler alert: this will happen a lot!)

Today's activity was lounging on the couch, both of them engrossed in different parenting books. It was a relaxed kind of day — James had forgone his suit in favor of sweatpants and a t-shirt (which was as dressed down as he got); Sherlock was haphazardly wrapped in a sheet. 

"What were you thinking in terms of baby names?" Sherlock asked, the first words he had spoken in days.

"Mmm… I have a few ideas." Moriarty replied, pretending to read the book, but actually playing games on a phone he snuck into the pages. "Go on then." Sherlock nodded, peeking over the top of his manual.

"Well, we won't be able to know the sex for a few months now. But for a boy, I like 'William Scott Moriarty.'" He said impishly.

Sherlock dropped the book out of shock, but couldn't quite pinpoint his feelings on it — was he touched, or annoyed? "Aren't you technically going to be mummy?" He asked, voice mockingly high, dripping in sarcasm. 

"What's that got to do with it?"

"Doesn't the child traditionally get the father's last name?"

"What about us is 'traditional,' pet? And isn't it enough that he'd have two of your names already? Must you be so selfish?" His voice was mocking as well, but he was feigning pain. 

"Point made. What about a girl?"

"Jamie Holmes." Moriarty smiled, fully engaging in the conversation.

"Jamie Holmes?" Sherlock asked incredulously.

"Yes. Did you have any suggestions?"

"Why not have another James or Sherlock in the family? You seem to be dancing around our proper names."

"I think it'd be weird having someone else with my same name in the house. Besides, who would inflict the name 'Sherlock' on another human being?" He said, sticking his tongue out teasingly. 

Sherlock flew forward, landing on top of James, pinning him down, "What was that?!" He seethed.

Moriarty showed all of his teeth, "I said: what kind of name is ' _Sherlock_?'" He responded in a singsong voice. The detective's face flushed pink, but it was more playful than angry. He lurched forward and claimed his lover's lips. 

Jim moaned into it, loving every moment his pet took charge. They maintained this scene, neither wanting to break away, Sherlock growing increasingly aware that he was only wearing a sheet. "You're far too dressed." He commented, attempting to tug off Moriarty's shirt. 

 _Oh no._ That damn smile. _Danger ensuing in three… two…_ "How about we deal for it, then, sweetie?"

Sherlock whined, "You cannot seriously be bargaining _sex_ for the privilege of naming our child!" 

"No, no, no. Don't be simple. That wouldn't be fair at all. No, it's just a… _motivator._ "

"Fine. What do you propose?" 

"If it's a boy, _I_ name it. If it's a girl, _you_ name it." 

"And you haven't messed with the natural fifty-fifty ratio?"

"Not in the slightest."

"William Scott Moriarty?" 

"We've still got about ten months. I might change my mind." 

"Am I going to regret this?" 

"Only you can say, darling."

Sherlock began to reconsider taking the deal — _I really shouldn't make decisions like this when I'm horny_ — when Moriarty began gently biting his neck. "Ngh!" He grunted, James able to play him all too well. 

"Come on, Sherlock. I can wait _forever_. The variable here is _youuuu_." Jim murmured, lips still firmly pressed against his boyfriend's neck, hands beginning to wander. 

Of the many reasons he hated that Jim was his first, the inability to restrain himself sat at the top of the list. Sherlock had never known lust like this — he only ever wanted _Moriarty._ He couldn't satiate his needs by assuring himself there were others out there; there just _weren't_. He couldn't reflect on past experiences: it was only ever _James._

It had been years, but no matter how many times they touched, Sherlock never felt his desire subside. And still unknown to the detective, Moriarty felt the same way. While Sherlock wasn't his _first_ , he was the first person he felt anything of this caliber for. There was no replacing him, no waning of affection. 

But through years of discipline, Jim had self-control mastered, that being one of his last advantages. Shockwaves flowed through Sherlock, Moriarty kissing down his chest very slowly. _Any moment now, he's going to stop_. _He doesn't lose sight of his goals._ And at the second he thought it, James pulled back, "Deal or no deal, my dear?" He cooed. 

"Yes. Okay. Deal. Anything. Just… _please_." Sherlock wheezed, regretting his vulnerable choice of clothing. The devious smile flashed, equally unnerving Sherlock and turning him on.

The sheet was ripped away.


	4. Moriarty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! We're gonna get some insight into Dear Jim's head!

_Why does it have to be_ today _?_ James grumbled internally, fumbling with the "snooze" button on his phone. It had been one of those rare nights that the staunch insomniac went to bed, allowing cuddles to happen. Pulling Sherlock's naked form close to him, he sighed with contentment. It seemed disgustingly tender, but cuddling with the detective was probably Moriarty's favorite act.

The sex was _amazing_ , of course, and had its own completely separate appeal. It certainly wasn't _fair_ to compare the two like that, but if Jim had to pick one or the other, it'd be cuddling. _Even more when my dearest is unconscious_ , he thought. A creepy sentiment on its own, but the reasoning behind it was all too sweet, _He's just so… defenseless._ He began playing with the lightly snoring detective's curls, _So unburdened by all he's had to deal with._ Begrudgingly, he added, _Cured my insomnia as well… something about having him nearby is so comforting…_  

Sherlock was blissfully unaware of it all. Moriarty didn't know how he'd react to this information, but enjoyed having these thoughts each time he woke up to his dearest. Brushing his lips against Sherlock's cheek, James gently disengaged and got out of bed. He dressed hurriedly, but silently as possible. 

Today was the day Lorna would be implanted with the embryos and she didn't want to go alone. More than that, she was right to assert to both of them that this was an important part of the process; since neither of them would be carrying the child, it was critical to be involved in as many steps as possible. Luckily, Moriarty agreed, because nothing short of that could've dragged him away from the comatose detective. 

However, Sherlock repudiated the offer, stating only one of them needed to go. James sighed, but no amount of hemming and hawing would change Sherlock's mind. _It's fine_ , he reassured himself, _We have discussed other… less pleasant things_. While he was all-in for most parts of the procedure, Moriarty had absolutely no desire to be in the room during the actual birth. _If I had wanted to stare at woman's private parts, I would be dating a woman_. No, the hand-holding and slimy-getting would fall on _Sherlock's_ shoulders. 

He texted for his car, which arrived within minutes. While he was at it, he dashed out a text to Lorna:

 

_Be by in a few minutes, sweetie! Sooooo excited!! -JM_

 

As the car headed her way, Jim put on his professor mentality. Professor Moriarty wasn't exactly an _alternate_ personality, it just involved a _lot_ of repressing — being homicidally whimsical wasn't very becoming of a respected educator. But charm was fine. Charm was more than fine; charm got him favor, which had earned him a few contacts. 

_If I ever wanted to be "good," I'd easily have a route._ James chuckled, _The beauty of that being is that it would all still be an act… Sherlock and I have that in common. He just goes about it a different way, swept up in the rushing river of the Iceman's influence._ As much as the detective didn't _want_ to admit it, he fell victim to his brother's guiding hand more often than not.

Lorna got in the car. They exchanged pleasantries. Discussed her health. She was a bit nervous. Idle chit-chat. _Boring_. Moriarty didn't dare have more complex thoughts, for fear it might show on his face. If it were something that mattered _less_ to him, he would see her as any other client. But in this instance, _he_ was a client. _He_ needed the favor, even if he had paid for it retroactively. 

The prospect of having a family had always seemed _loathsome_ to James, _unbearable_ even. He had entirely committed to a solitary life, a lover here or there, but ultimately _alone_. Even so, something kept him from ruling it out completely. What that something was, of course, was Sherlock. Another thing his beloved remained heartily ignorant of was exactly _how long_ Jim had been obsessed with him. 

 

* * *

 

It was years ago, after the murder of Carl Powers. A young Jim Moriarty was high on the drug of his first real crime. The set-up, execution, waiting to see if the cops would _ever_ catch on. But without the shoes, which he had made sure to snag before he left, there wasn't any cause to even consider foul-play. Except… 

Except he heard rumors about another young boy, roughly his age, causing a fuss about the missing sneakers. Jim's heart pounded in his throat, both worried and thrilled for days at the prospect that someone might actually listen and look into it. When it became clear that no one would listen to the impudent child, trying to trump Jim's brilliant plan, he decided it was safe to look into this prying mind. 

That was the first time he heard the name _Sherlock Holmes_. 

James spent hours, writing this name over and over. The sound of it was so… _intoxicating._ The name itself meant nothing, but it was the anticipation of what it'd bring: he'd keep an eye on this meddlesome boy, knowing that if anything ever came of this new challenger, he'd be Moriarty's downfall. But the possibility of _losing_ , fair and square, was beautiful. 

 

* * *

 

He and Lorna arrived at the clinic. It wasn't as important as she had stressed, seeing as James spent most of the time in the waiting room, sleek chairs, a bit too cold, various husbands/boyfriends waiting around.  _Unbearably dull_  — but he supposed this would substitute for the tradition of going to each doctor's visit. Until the child was born, he wasn't interested in much more than the sonograms. 

Sebastian hadn't bothered him since his last outing, leaving Moriarty unoccupied. This dearth of thought lead him back down into his mind palace, which looked more like a holographic index than a physical place, examining his desire for this _family_. 

He had never _wanted_ it, or so he told himself. By the time he was in high school, he had neither a mother nor a father. _Good riddance_ , he thought, _I just wish I hadn't been thrown around foster families_. _Somehow they managed to be_ worse _._ _And that's saying something._

He re-focused his mind, almost exactly twenty years back.

 

* * *

 

Seventeen or so, he'd finally experienced this "sex" business. It wasn't earth-shattering, but it was a good distraction. It seemed to earn him people's favor, the notice of his peers. His _stupid_ peers, but peers no less. He got himself a girlfriend, but quickly found he preferred men. But he couldn't _stand_ actual relationships, so he got what he wanted, then got out. 

_There's no one out there for me_ , the thought repeated each time James felt a pang for further connection, _Except there is_. Adolescent now, he hadn't checked in on Sherlock for years. It was the height of hubris to have this unhealthy fascination, _but how does the saying go? About keeping your enemies close?_ But they weren't enemies. Yet. He knew all about Sherlock, but Sherlock didn't even know poor little Jim was a suspect.

He didn't dare approach the blossoming sleuth, who had recently begun his climb into working for the law, but James kept his image close. They didn't go to the same university, but he knew they'd meet for real one day. Becoming a professor wasn't going to be the great Moriarty's final goal, but it was a good stepping stone to building contacts. _Perhaps when I'm famous… no,_ infamous, _he will take hold of one of my cases…_ and then they'd have a showdown. Jim could finally size him up properly, and see if he was all he ever imagined him to be.

He remembers very clearly the heartbreak he felt some years later when Sherlock fell off the wagon into complete obscurity. 

Drugs had claimed his dearest's brilliant soul, and James' heart hardened, throwing out his obsession, and writing it off as a complete waste of time. When he thought of being alone forever, there were no more hang-ups. 

Then, in his mid-thirties, Jim caught wind of a monkey wrench in a few of his plans. He didn't bother to look too closely into it — he had been doing this for more than a decade now, sometimes plans wobbled. But after the murder of Jeff Hope (an interesting serial-killing cabbie with good ideas), James' ears perked up. _Could it be?_ Sure enough, his dark executioner had returned.  

Meeting Sherlock… nothing could've prepared James for that. He had gone through quitebit of trouble, setting up a huge game, watching the detective _work_. _Hopefully he will see just how much this moment means to me… what_ he _means…_ he thought, right before stepping out to reveal Sherlock's arch-enemy for the first time.

 

* * *

 

It had taken much longer than either had wanted, but after witnessing his true glory, Jim would've gladly waited forever. Suddenly, thoughts of a future, of love, of _family_ returned to him.

That's when he _knew_ he had to have Sherlock. It _always_ had to be _Sherlock_. Despite the hard shell he had woven out of his own insanity and discouragement, there existed some part of him that longed to be vulnerable. He had never felt the need to _force_ himself into family, but from the moment he heard of him, James Moriarty felt _kinship_ with the detective. Truly, it was meant to be. 

_Only you._  

 

**[One hour later]**

 

Returning to Baker street, Moriarty hoped that Sherlock was still asleep. Or at least still in bed. Slinking into the bedroom, he was rewarded with the sight of the brunette still curled up in the sheet, messing with his phone. 

"Hello, my love." Jim beamed — after his trip down memory lane, his heart whined to be reunited with the vigorous thuds of his love's. _That heart is mine,_ the criminal thought, _His life is mine too._ Sherlock rolled to look at James, the corners of his mouth twitching, barely able to contain himself, "Going to join me anytime soon?" 

Moriarty didn't need more encouragement than that, quickly wriggling out of his clothes and sweeping both of them under the covers, "Do anything exciting while I was gone?"

"Not in the slightest. How did it go?"

"Eh. Should've taken your lead and stood this one out."

"But the procedure went well?"

"Oh yes. We should know if it took within the next few days."

"Mmm. Good." Sherlock nuzzled into Jim's neck. They let this scene carry on for a moment, letting their concurrent heartbeats fill their heads. 

"Sherlock," Moriarty said, finding the words to continue the serious air, "I want you to consider something."

"Yes?"

"I don't think we should raise our child here."

"What, at Baker street?"

"This apartment. You've basically made it impossible to baby-proof."

"How so?"

"Well… the random broken bits of glass and shrapnel everywhere, for starters."

"That can't be so bad, can it? It hasn't hurt either of _us_."

"… have you even _read_ your parenting books?"

"… yes." 

"Then you should know infants will find a way to hurt themselves on absolutely anything that they can. And put things in their mouths."

"Okay…"

"I also have several houses laying around that I'm not actively using. I wouldn't suggest the residence I use to conduct my _business_ … as I've mentioned, that would be too risky. But there's a small house, still in London, that I think would do well. There's a room I could set aside for you to destroy with your fits of boredom and more… caustic experiments." 

Sherlock didn't respond, taking the information in. Sentiment was a weakness, and having sentiment for 221B seemed silly. _What James is saying makes a lot of sense, I've made this a bit inhospitable for younger children,_ he thought, _When I agreed to have a baby, I knew it would involve some changes_. _But_ —

"We don't need to move immediately." James said, interrupting his more doubtful thoughts, "We could just secure the place so we don't have to rush through it later. And we can't even start decorating the baby's room yet, since we don't know the gender-related theme…." 

_Just like Moriarty to know exactly what I need to move past an obstacle_ , "I'll think about it." Jim kissed him enthusiastically, happy that their life together was progressing so well. 

 

 


	5. Security

"I don't see why this is _necessary_ ," Sherlock spat, getting fed-up with putting baby locks on all of the kitchen cabinets, "What trouble could a baby get into just by opening a bloody cabinet?" He could hear James giggle from the living room. 

_He wasn't lying about this being a nice place…_ Sherlock thought idly, deciding to take a break. It had been about a month since the successful insemination, and with eight months left to get everything prepared, he had agreed to at least _look_ at Moriarty's proposed living arrangement. It was _very_ nice, but not too nice. It wasn't the criminal's main residence (which Sherlock was convinced was a mansion of some sort), but it was for the best — it was a more upscale townhouse, with four bedrooms, but it still felt "normal" enough for a child. 

He sighed and looked around the kitchen, _twelve cabinets left to go! That's lunacy, most of them couldn't even be reached by a baby…_ "But Sherlock, you'd be surprised at what an unattended little genius could do! It'd be so easy to _climb_ on the counter and blah, blah, blah —"

"Mocking me again, dear?" Moriarty's icy cold voice struck him from the door. A chill ran down Sherlock's spine, turning around slowly. To his surprise, Jim was smiling with genuine delight, and not murderous fury like his voice suggested, "So what if I am?" 

"Are you getting _bored_ , my pet?"

"No, it's got a certain soothing repetitiveness to it… it's just frustrating once installed."

"Can't figure out the mechanics?"

" _No one_ will be able to open them, not just a baby."

James responded by effortlessly opening all six of the cabinets the taller man had managed to get done, a flawless mask of apathy on his face. Sherlock's mouth became thin line, unable to find anything witty to retort. 

"Do you need some incentive?" The criminal teased, walking seductively toward Sherlock.

"What did you have in mind?" 

"Don't be thick, dear." Moriarty responded, unbuttoning the detective's shirt tantalizingly slow. 

Somehow the lead-up to sex was never boring, at least not with James. This was surprising to Sherlock, who always thought such things would get stale after so many years together. But no, Moriarty was too unpredictable. 

_Today's a slow build-up, not to mention out of nowhere._ Sherlock thought, shirt hanging on him loosely, Jim's long fingers gently pushing him down to lay on the tile floor. James placed slow, methodical kisses on his neck and torso, hands caressing every curve of his body. Sherlock's eyes shut, allowing himself just to _feel_.

And then he felt a small peck on his lips, "Cabinets!" Moriarty chirped, getting off of him and skipping back to put the plastic plugs in the electric sockets, a wicked smile on his face, "And don't forget the drawers."

Anger bubbled up in Sherlock — not for James, no, but at himself. _I let my guard down for one second…_ he got up, wondering if it was physically possible to kick himself, _I_ knew _he wasn't going to go through with anything. He said, "incentive" not "reward."_ He threw off his shirt, no longer interested in his common decency, and continued locking the cabinets.

"That wasn't nice." Sherlock seethed, finding Moriarty after the kitchen was done. He was on the staircase to the second floor, putting up a baby gate. 

"Aw, but Sherlock, you're not with me because I'm _nice_." 

"Can't argue with you there."

"I'm sorry, did I really make you angry?" James tried to go for an apologetic tone, but his grin offset any intention.

"It wasn't appreciated." 

"But did you finish the task at hand?"

"Yes. It's all inaccessible."

"Good, good. Still up for a go?"

"No."

"That's a shame. Oh well. I think we can stop for today anyway." Moriarty began walking down the stairs, "You might want to get your shirt." 

Sherlock's face flushed violently, both from the conversation, and having forgotten he was still half-naked, "Don't tell me what to do." He followed James down the stairs, thinking they'd head back to Baker street.

"It was just a suggestion, dear." Jim walked with purpose, hitting the bottom of the stairs, "But we are heading back to your place, which will involve walking onto the sidewalk, at least for a few moments. I personally don't mind, but it might leave you feeling… _exposed_." Sherlock frowned — the press didn't camp outside his door like the used to when Moriarty first revealed himself, but there was always the errant photographer that might be looking for a scandalous story. He was actually quite surprised no one had found out about his forbidden relationship.

Then again, no one ever really noticed Jim. 

_Just Jim,_ Sherlock mused, _They see me, because I'm some sort of hero. They see Moriarty quite clearly as a force of evil. He is the face of an empire. But_ Jim _is a spider… a wolf so wonderfully cloaked in sheep's hide. He has a distinct power of deception, even in plain sight_ … Even with the illustrious powers of perception Sherlock held, _Jim_ had managed to escape his notice, even when he _introduced_ himself. 

But Sherlock couldn't hide _anything_ from Jim. 

 

* * *

 

 

It was much later in the evening, they had ordered-in chinese for dinner, and Sherlock had just requisitioned some choice cadavers from Molly. He stood over the table, dissecting the specimen; it was set to be a good night. And then _Jim_ happened. 

"Whatcha doing?" He creeped into the kitchen, hooking his chin over Sherlock's shoulder, arms warping around the brunette's back, hands braced against his stomach, peeking at the spleen he was cutting into. 

"What does it _look_ like?"

"It _looks_ like you're preparing something for breakfast. If that's true, I might go vegetarian." 

This warranted a small smile from Sherlock, "No, but that's a good guess."

"That was a rather stupid guess — you hardly eat as it stands. But then… what _are_ you doing?"

"Trying to figure out what the spleen _does_." 

"A bunch of stuff involving blood. I'm sure you wouldn't be interested."

"Bother. I had hoped it filtered something I could _use_."

"Iron."

"Hmm. Yes, that could be useful in determining metal poisoning." 

"Aren't you glad to have me around? I've got such a wealth of information that you probably deleted."

"Do you ever do mental cleansings?"

"Nah. Maybe small, mundane things I could easily learn again. But for the most part, I don't believe there's such a thing as 'useless' information."

"That's a lie." 

"Okay, yes. But I delete _far_ _less_ than you." 

Sherlock only hummed in assent. James was rather impressed he got _that_ much out of him, the detective was nigh laconic whenever he was doing experiments. This didn't bother Jim, he was known to be silent himself. But his dearest had been quiet too much lately, and becoming more easily irritated. Something was bothering him.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong, or do I have to torture it out of you?" 

"Not that I mind being tortured, but there's nothing to 'tell.'"

"So that's a yes?" 

"You're not making sense."

"Then I'll be clear."

Moriarty gently pulled Sherlock's hands away, confiscating his scalpel. The detective tried to protest, but Jim took his safety goggles as well, leading him to the living room. Sherlock whined, but could never bring himself to break away from James' touch. 

They both landed on the couch, Sherlock curling into his partner's embrace. "Okay," James said, "There's been something bothering you, and I'm not a mind reader. I suspected it was the baby itself, seeing as it's the biggest uncertainty in your life right now. But I'm beginning to think it's only got something to _do_ with it. Is it that we're moving?" 

Sherlock pursed his lips, _Certainly, but not in the way that you think_ —

"Honey, I just got done saying I couldn't read your mind. But I'll take your lack of answer as a yes… bothersome, of course, but it's better that you let me know earlier rather than later—" 

"That's not it!" Sherlock yelped, trying desperately to find the words. 

James gave a bleak look of confusion, but said nothing, allowing the detective to gather his thoughts. 

"It's just… Mycroft… h-he said if things got 'out of hand…' he'd have us _both_ killed. And I don't know what he means by it… and I'm worried that the more serious we get…"

"You weren't worried about this when you agreed to have a baby. What am I missing?"

"The baby… Mycroft will catch wind of the birth certificate, no doubt. But James Moriarty is a professor. It's nothing he can't wave away — it's a private matter, after all. But moving in together… when the press is on me… people could see that it's _your_ face. I- I don't know if he can overlook that." 

"As repugnant as this will sound, you need to talk to the Iceman about this."

"He will just skirt around the issue and make some vague statement that I could interpret one way or the other."

"Only because that's how you talk."

"Pardon?"

"That's your dynamic — implications and puzzles. I'm sure if you asked," he took a big breath, clasped his hands together, batted his eyelashes and began speaking in a high-pitched voice, "'Oh gee, dearest big brother, if I move in with my boyfriend, will you have him shot?' rather than," he put a scowl on his face and spoke in a fastidious tone, "'You giant lard, how's the diet _failing?_ Please define your holy rules for me,' you'd get results."

"If I said something so forward, he'd definitely have you killed."

"Oh whatever. He's going to do it anyway if you _don't_ check in with him. I could always shoot him a text… it's been ages since we've had a proper chat."

"I'm _sure_ he'd appreciate that." 

"At least consider it."

"I will."

"Okay. While I have you here, is there anything else you want to talk about?" 

Sherlock bit down on his tongue, _this would be the time, I guess…_ "I want to tell John."

" _Why_?" Moriarty asked, a bit too contemptuously.

"Whatever you may think of him, he is still my best friend… it feels horribly dishonest to be hidingsuch a big part of my life. I also think he'd figure out something was up when he hears I won't be living at Baker street anymore. And suddenly have an infant." 

"Alright." James huffed, but the detective had a point, "Why don't you just set aside tomorrow to talk to John and the Iceman. Though, maybe your brother first… if I die, there isn't much point in telling _anyone_ about us." 

Sherlock planted a tender kiss on his lips, "Agreed." 

"One last thing," Jim pulled back, "I'd like to confirm a few… suspicions, I've had."

The detective nodded once; when possible, he gave James a reverent silence, as Sherlock was sure his partner could read his mind if he gave _too much_ away. Even _tone_ could sometimes give him all the answers. _And who would want that?_

"Who shot you?" Moriarty asked, eyes scanning Sherlock's face for any changes. The question had come up a few times since their reunion; of course, the detective hadn't pointed anyone out, but that only served to fuel Jim's thirst for vengeance. 

"James, I already told you —"

"I know you were lying when you said it was Magnussen."

"How?"

"Because I dealt with the man personally. He was a total codger, but he wasn't _practical._ I didn't like him for it — so unwilling to get his hands dirty." 

"You don't like doing the dirty work either."

"Yes, but I don't _blackmail_ … I issue threats. Either I follow through, or I get what I want and leave my compatriots alone."

"Your _victims?_ "

"Whatever you want to call them. But don't change the subject — I know it must be someone you care about, since you're protecting them."

"I —"

"It was the doctor's wife, wasn't it?" Moriarty watched as Sherlock's pupils dilated.

"…" 

"Thought so." 

"Please, don't —"

"I should kill her." 

"You —" 

Moriarty covered Sherlock's mouth firmly with his hand, "Don't make excuses for what she did." The other hand slid under his shirt, feeling the scar tissue from where the bullet pierced, "She almost took you from me. No, not _almost_ … entirely. Briefly, briefly, but still…"

Sherlock struggled to uncover his mouth, but Jim wouldn't budge, _he's obviously very experienced…_ he relaxed, forfeiting control over the situation. 

"I love you." Jim leaned forward and kissed the back of his hand, right over where his pet's lips touched the other side, "So I won't have her head on my wall. But I will make sure she is aware of her place on my naughty list. Is that fair?" 

All Sherlock could do was nod. James still didn't back off. _Is he… crying?_ The pressure on the detective's mouth hadn't subsided, but he felt small tremors. _It's dark, but his eyes appear to be glistening…_ Then Moriarty leaned forward, nestling his face into Sherlock's lapel. Two wet spots appeared. _Yes._ Hands dropped, and both consultants held each other. 

"I love you, too." 

 


	6. Dying isn't Easy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... is there still any interest in this? Not in a self-pitying way. Even if there's no one interested, I'll still post the full story, but am I doing something wrong? Is this boring? Should I change it up? 
> 
> Tell me!

Sherlock drummed out a text to his brother:

 

_I need to see you._ _-SH_

 

It was somewhat relieving, being pushed into doing this. The stress of anticipation was working his last nerve. James had encouraged this little heart-to-heart, despite having to make himself scarce for the time being — he was safest among his network, should Mycroft choose to take unduly (though, in his mind, _very necessary_ ) revenge. 

 

_Car will be by shortly. -MH_

 

Sherlock gulped, _Well, this is it._ He paced around the apartment, trying to keep himself occupied for the precisely three minutes it would take for his brother's driver to arrive. After two and a half minutes, he stood on the sidewalk, the car pulling up in front of him. He got in the back, horrified to see Mycroft waiting for him, "So nice to see you, brother dear." 

"Mycroft." His breath was immediately robbed of him, "I thought we should revisit certain… topics." 

"How to-the-point. I'm listening." Mycroft lazily tapped on the glass separating the backseat from the driver. The car began to move, taking them somewhere unknown. 

"It's Moriarty." 

"Ah, yes, how _is_ married life treating you?"

"We're not _married_."

"I'm fully aware. Just making conversation."

"It's great. Very little to complain about."

"And those _little_ complaints are?"

"Well, it's somewhat _difficult_ to enjoy every aspect of my life with the threat of death looming in the foreground."

"My threat, or his?"

"At this point, I doubt Jim could kill me if he tried. I imagine he's grown rather fond of me. _Yours_ , however, is far more credible."

"I'm rather fond of you too, or does that matter?"

"Not in our case. Sentiment isn't in our list of weaknesses, is it? Not when the government gets involved." 

"The work is king in both of our worlds, little brother." Mycroft sighed, "We just have different priorities— James Moriarty is yours, England is mine."

"Exactly. And I want to know what _England_ decrees to be overstepping my bounds." 

"One would think having a _child_ was pushing it, brother mine. But you agreed to it without a second thought. I thought you had forgotten _my_ promise." 

_So he already knew_ , Sherlock pulled his mouth into a slant, _I was hoping to keep that from him until the actual birth. There I go, underestimating how much he's watching me all over again…_ "That means it wasn't overstepping." 

"Correct."

"Then what _is?_ "

"I couldn't rightly say, Sherlock." 

"Don't be obstinate! I'm just trying to figure out what it'll take to —"

"To what, Sherlock? _Die? That_ much trouble in paradise? If you're so eager, I could just send you back on your suicide mission."

_Fine, James, we'll play it your way_ , "Where does moving in with him fall on the spectrum?" 

"It's… _alarming,_ but I wouldn't call that grounds for the death penalty."

"Then what is?! Being unable to see the bars of my own cage is _maddening_." 

Mycroft stopped to take in the sight of his little brother: he looked so frazzled. Love for another human being, actual obsessive, romantic love. _For a notorious criminal, no less._ _Then again, how could Sherlock love anyone else?_ _I don't envy him_ , he thought callously, wondering how much more delight he could refine from Sherlock's delicious torment, "I suppose I can let you in on a little secret." Sherlock stared.

"I don't want you dead." Mycroft stated, "I told you before: your loss would _break my heart_ —" 

"Then why —"

"Don't interrupt." 

"Sorry."

"' _Sorry?_ ' That's new." Mycroft taunted, but paused when he saw the gears turning in Sherlock's head, possibly plotting his older brother's murder, "Yes. Right. Where was I? Oh yes: I don't want you dead. I also don't want you unhappy. Killing James Moriarty would make you sulk for _at least_ a year. And given your absence from him last year nearly drove you back to _drugs_ , I'm hesitant to push you back to other bad habits…" Mycroft paused, observing Sherlock's strained facial expressions, "That being said, _publicly_ , I cannot support this relationship. Yes, there are several different personas your lover could take on paper, but because of that little stunt that saved your life, his _face_ has become _very_ well-known.

"What I'm saying is… you don't have rigid guidelines to your personal life. All that I ask is that you aren't found out by the press, publishing slanderous things about you two to the point where I _have_ to respond." 

"So… as long as we do exactly what we've been doing, we're fine?"

"Essentially, yes." 

"And anything on paper —"

"Christ, Sherlock. You're a Holmes. Show some dignity and self-preservation."

Sherlock was fully aware that he had done more blushing since his relationship with Jim than he had ever done in his life. Now being an excellent example, _Why does Mycroft have to see everything? And for the matter, why does Jim? Oh, right, because they_ care _about me._ He rolled his eyes, Mycroft mirroring the motion, "You're such a child, little brother."

They pulled back up to Baker street, Sherlock grumbling in the uncomfortable silence. As he exited the vehicle, Mycroft leaned forward, "Oh, and Sherlock?"

"What?"

"Do send me an invitation. I will decline, of course. But I'd like one." 

Sherlock only glared and slammed the door behind him, _Well that makes one._ _On to John._

 

_Seems like we get to live a while longer. -SH_

 

_Seeeeeee? It pays to listen to daddy. -JM_

 

Sherlock didn't respond — he was thoroughly _done_ with people handing his ass to him that day. The nice thing about John was his inability to do so — he and Sherlock were the best of friends, and he had just had a child of his own. 

 

_Baker street. Now. -SH_

 

_Nothing could go wrong with John, right?_ He thought, sending off the text to the doctor. 

 

_Is it an emergency? -JW_

 

_Yes. Bring the first aid kit. -SH_

 

John rushed over so fast Sherlock barely had time to get up the stairs. He was just sitting down in his chair when the doctor busted in, panicked, "Are you injured?! What happened?!" 

"Not yet, no." Sherlock replied, fingertips pressing together, resting under his chin.

"Then _why_ did I bring the first aid kit?"

"I said _yet_."

"Who's going to hurt you?!"

"We'll see. Sit." He nodded toward John's chair.

"Um… okay." John sat, wondering what could be so serious that Sherlock appeared to have _slept_ recently. 

"I have something to tell you. And I don't think you'll like it." 

"Well, out with it. What's it got to do with?"

"Erm… Moriarty."

"Moriarty!" John exclaimed, "What?! This is huge! Did you find him? Did he contact you?"

_Oh right_ , Sherlock stifled a laugh, _He, like the rest of the public, think he's still at large. Appeared and disappeared without a trace._ "Something like that."

"Well what?!"

"Maybe I should start with: I'm moving out of Baker street."

"Sherlock, we can talk about that later! What about _Moriarty_?"

"They're related topics, John." 

"I don't follow."

"Well… I'm moving in with him."

A pause struck as a wave of confusion washed over John, "You're… you're what?" 

"Yes… we've been discussing it for a while —"

"Wait, _a while_? Sherlock, you haven't even… I mean, hold up. You're in a _relationship_ with _Moriarty?_ "

"Yes."

" _James_ Moriarty?"

"He prefers Jim."

"A _romantic_ relationship?"

"As far as I'm aware." 

John struggled for words. Hell, he struggled for _thoughts_ , "Sherlock, he is your mortal enemy! He tried to have you _killed_. More than once!" 

"And quite recently saved my life." 

"How does that make it okay?!"

"Well… at this point, he hasn't tried to kill me in years. There is a long-standing _threat_ , certainly, but I think he's given up on that."

"You _think_?! Being in a relationship for fear of _death_ isn't a relationship! I know you're inexperienced, Sherlock, but that's just plain coercion." 

"Nonsense. Yes, I was confused at first, but Jim has shown time and time again that he does care."

"Yes, 'at first,' let's talk about that."

"What about it?"

"How long have you been _together_?" 

"On and off for about… oh. Wow. Three years now. Almost four."

"You've been hiding this for _years_? What were you _thinking_?"

"Initially I was in it for the challenge — we were sort of living together those two years we were 'dead,' and he was helping me dismantle his web…"

"Sherlock, you _literally_ made a deal with the devil. What did he want?"

"To put it indelicately? Probably sex." 

"How was that not coercion?!"

"It wasn't displeasing. And it slowly became more than that. By the end of the two years, I was quite distraught, having to leave him."

"What happened to Janine? I liked her."

"We broke up because we both had ulterior motives to our 'relationship.' Was that not clear? We canceled dinner plans." 

John looked like he had been forced to eat living, wriggling earthworms, still covered in topsoil. He was a bit green, from where Sherlock was sitting. Minutes passed. "She was nice." John finally whispered, conceding to the information he was trying to process. 

"I don't really go for _nice_." Sherlock said, wondering how unbearable he sounded. _Oh, he only threatened my life three or four times, tops!_

"And then he came back?"

"About ten months ago when he made his grand announcement… Ostensibly just to save me from my conclusive demise. I thought that proved his affection well enough."

"And you're moving in together. _Why_?"

"Ah, well, Jim was right in saying I've made this place rather inhospitable for a child —"

"A _child_?!" 

"Yes."

"You're having children?"

"Yep." 

"No, Sherlock. I don't think you understand: _You._ _Are_. _Having._ _Children?!_ "

"Well, just the one."

"How are you even — ?"

"In-vitro fertilization. It's a hot-button topic lately. Jim knows more about it than I do. But long story short we got a surrogate and the child is genetically both of ours. Only about three months along, though, so it will be a while. Oh, yes, how is your offspring?" 

"She's great — but, Sherlock… _why_?" 

"Why did _you_ have a kid? Why do a _lot_ of people have kids?"

"I- I… Sherlock, it's _Moriarty_!"

"I thought we were over that point?" 

"No! We will _never_ be over that point!"

"That's a shame, Johnny-boy." James said, emerging from the staircase, crossing the room and clapping a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. _Crap_. The brunette thought, wondering what he wouldn't give for Jim _not_ to be there right now. 

John shot up out of reflex. He didn't move, just stood his ground, not breaking eye contact with Moriarty, whose smile grew by the second. "How'd it go with Mycroft, honey?" He didn't look down to Sherlock, his body language completely focused on the doctor.

"You are already quite aware how he feels about the subject, or else you wouldn't be standing here." Sherlock was frozen, not sure what John was thinking, but he looked poised to launch an attack. _And I can't be sure how James would react to that._

" _Mycroft?_ " John spat, " _Mycroft_ knows about _this_?"

"Yes. He always knew." Sherlock replied as calmly as he could muster, "At least, he assumed. He didn't get the confirmation until Jim's return."

"But you _told_ _Mycroft_ a _year ago_?!"

"No, he put it together a few years ago. My reaction is what sealed it."

"Sherlock… we're supposed to be friends." 

At this, Jim gave an exasperated sigh and butted in, "Dear doctor, he only avoided telling you because he was afraid you'd freak out. Thanks for proving him wrong." He fixed Watson with a cold look, constantly annoyed with him in general, but also disappointed he'd speak to Sherlock in such a way, knowing what an effect he had on his dearest. 

"You can't seriously — _you_ , of all people, are telling me not to hurt his feelings?" John was flummoxed, and getting angry. 

"Shut up!" Sherlock announced, "James, can you _please_ stop antagonizing John? And John, can you _please_ stop making this more difficult than it needs to be?" 

Moriarty made a mock-surprised face, but soon bent down to kiss Sherlock, "Fine, dear. We can talk later." John cringed at seeing the kiss, but then James waltzed off to the bedroom, leaving he and Sherlock alone again.

"John… you don't need to _understand_ it… I just thought I should tell you." 

"I'm worried you're going to get hurt."

"I probably will, at some point. But no relationship is entirely painless." 

"I just don't want it to end with you _dead_."

"I can't say with 100% certainty that it won't… but it seems unlikely these days. He's become very… nurturing." 

"Forgive me if I find that hard to picture."

"It's fine." 

"And you're going to have a baby?" 

"We've covered that already."

"I'm sorry, it's just a lot to take in. Until twenty minutes ago, I was under the impression you two were still at war. Now I find that you have been in a relationship for the past _four years_ , are moving in together, and planning on raising another human being."

"It's a bit stunning on this side, as well." 

"That kid is going to have an interesting childhood…" John gave a hollow laugh, the idea still abhorrent in his mind. 

"I'd hope so." Sherlock allowed a smirk. 

"So when's the wedding?" John immediately regretted asking — Sherlock, whether he was aware of it or not, gave a full body lurch at the word "wedding." 

"I'll let you know." The detective replied too quickly. John nodded, deciding to leave it at that. John departed, and Sherlock continued to sit in heavy meditation. _That went relatively well, all things considered…_ He sighed, getting up to join James, _I'm not going to die anytime soon._


	7. Mary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Errr... don't want to give anything away, but there's mentions and suggestions of violence and gun violence in this chapter. If that bothers you... why watch Sherlock? :P 
> 
> Also, lots of threats. Enjoy!

James had posted an agent outside John and Mary's flat, knowing Sherlock would pull John away whenever he was done with Mycroft. _Provided The Iceman doesn't just put him in a meat crate to shut him up…_ he rolled his eyes, _Sherlock can be ever so annoying when he needs a favor._

When he got a text chime, he knew his part of the plan was about to come into fruition: 

 

_Seems like we get to live a while longer. -SH_

 

_Seeeeeee? It pays to listen to daddy. -JM_

 

Jim smirked; he knew that the elder Holmes wouldn't see a problem with their relationship anymore than he already did. _It's difficult to disapprove when your rowdy brother is being so delightfully tamed… and yet, still free. I think the high official is just glad I haven't fully corrupted his baby brother. Yet._

He only had to wait a few more minutes before his agent reported Watson burst out of the flat, toting a medical kit. _Must be going to Sherlock's… Time to make my move_. Taking his time to meander over from the café he was lounging about, he decided the best course of ingress was through the open first story window. _Too easy._

As she heard her husband murmur something about going to see Sherlock, Mary Watson sighed with relief; she was always happy for John when he could be with his best friend. She was acutely aware of the fact that civilian life bored and frustrated her husband, but the truth of the matter was that she was sick of the "high life." 

At this moment, she was tucking her newborn baby into her crib for a nap — it was _this_ kind of thing that excited her now. She had made huge sacrifices and took ridiculous risks to get where she wanted to be: _boring_. 

However, this didn't mean she had changed much. No, underneath it all, she was still very detached from the world surrounding her. Quite often, she wondered if she was just _convinced_ she loved John, her daughter and her current life. 

Disillusionment haunted dreams and daily life, but was nonetheless able to put on a smile — John couldn't tell the difference. Yes, she felt very hollow inside, like nothing could faze her. 

But there are some things you just aren't prepared to see: your supposedly dead ex-boss, sitting on your living room sofa, for example. 

"James, what are you doing _here_?" Mary asked, taken aback, freezing in place. It wasn't that she _feared_ Moriarty, so much as she was _enthralled_ by him. Not that she'd ever told John, but before she became Mary Morstan, she was one of Moriarty's grunt assassins. She was well-aware that he had never seen _her_ in the same way — to him, she was a set of hands — but that didn't change her ceaseless admiration of him. 

The job had drawn her attention after her time as a militarily employed mercenary came to an end. Word on the street was (and persists in being) that Moriarty was always looking for keen shots with no loyalties… except to money. She took it in stride, made a pretty penny or two, and learned some things about the man in power. By far, the most important rule she took to heart when dealing with him was not to challenge him. Not unless you wanted pain. 

"Dear Abby, how good it is to see you again. Please, have a seat." 

"It's 'Mary' now." She snapped, taking the chair opposite him. 

"Oh, right, sorry, slip of the tongue. Old habits, you know?"

"Right. What do you want? I'm a bit out of the murdering business, as you've probably seen." 

"Ah, yes, how is being married to such a… normal? 

"It's a fair sight better than living the way I did."

"I beg to differ, but let's cut to the chase…" his icy gaze locked into hers, and although she didn't _dare_ look down, she heard the click of a gun coming from his lap, "You shot my beloved." 

Mary had taken on a very serious demeanor, but she couldn't help but let the surprise show on her face, "Sherlock?!" Moriarty nodded curtly, allowing her to parse things out on her own. _Explaining is exhausting… thankfully, the company I keep can either connect dots, or knows when to shut up_.

Meanwhile, Mary was stunned: certainly, John mustn't have known about the two consultants' relationship, either. _I would've never have heard the end of it!_ Yet, she could see the hints she had missed: _Sherlock's previous unusual depression and need for connection about a year back… then a sudden upswing in mood, and him disappearing for weeks at a time with no contact…_ _I had just assumed it was because he missed John._  

"I'm surprised I never put it together," she smiled wearily, "Always thought you were _too_ _obsessed_ with Mr. Holmes… too insistent that he not be harmed, even when he demolished your plans. You had him constantly watched, but I thought it was because you were gearing up to make your final move… _destroying_ the great detective. No, you were _in love_." Adding a small jaunt to her words had the effect she was going for: Jim began to blush, grip on the pistol tightening.

"I enjoy a good puzzle. Sherlock is the best there ever was. Not all of us can be happy with _goldfish_." He smirked, Mary barely holding back a rise.

"I've already apologized for my lapse in judgement… I shouldn't have hurt him. I knew how much it'd hurt John, but I wasn't thinking properly… it won't happen again."

Moriarty frowned, "I'm sure it won't. Not now that I know where your _real_ priorities lie… I never did like the doctor."

"Jealous?"

" _Annoyed_. Annoyed that my pet spent so much time trying to be _ordinary_ … when all along, he could've been with me, and stayed himself."

"Sometimes we need to change ourselves to find happiness."

_Oh yes_ , Mary thought, _I know Sherlock is happy. And so are you. But it is truly wonderful to see_ you _squirm for once._ But even as she had these thoughts, she knew it was useless, _Still, you are untouchable. I can do little more than rile you up._

Moriarty raised the gun, "You're right — I'm _quite_ changeable. And it does provide endless amusement."

"There's a phrase about variety I can't quite recall." Mary responded, unable to put together her more eloquent thoughts: it had been many years since a gun was directly in her face.

"I came with the intention of leaving you _alive_ … but now I'm concerned that'd be far too… _loving_ of me, hmm?"

"What would Sherlock say?" _Love is my last line of defense…_

Deadly smile. He lowered the gun. _No_ , she thought, _That'd be too easy._  

Something was wrong.

"He might get pout-y on me for a few years, at least." He feigned actual concern. Mary decided to play along in his demented theater.

"Do you want me to beg for my life? Is that your aim?"

"No, it wouldn't do you much good." 

"Well, if you don't mind, I trust John will be home soon… it will be much harder to explain to dear Sherlock why both his best friend and his best friend's wife are dead. Would you kill the baby for good measure? Just to _really_ ensure he hates you?" 

Jim chuckled while he nodded in agreement. He let the moment hang, and got up to leave, "Just so you know, this doesn't have to be an adversarial relationship. As much as you _interest_ me, dear Abigail, the thought of you and I constantly trying to get one-up on each other is _exhausting_ , and quite frankly, you aren't up to the par my beloved has set. The fact of the matter is I _could_ just kill you — heck, it'd make my life _much easier._ "

"So why don't you?" She stood in defiance. Their eyes bored into the other's. 

He raised the firearm again, aiming it directly between her eyes. She swallowed, but did not break face.

The trigger was pulled and she braced herself, shutting her eyes tightly. 

But there was no blast. No pain. Just a hard _click_.

Slowly peeking out from her eyelids, she glimpsed the _hate_ dancing in James' eyes, "A _living_ Abby can suffer far more than a dead one." He pocketed the gun.

She sighed exasperatedly while her insides danced in terror, "What do you want from me to make this right?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to have this chat." He grinned, but his face quickly fell, "Oh, and to warn you: if you _ever_ so much as _look_ at him the wrong way again —"

"What? You'll turn me into _shoes?_ " 

"No." Moriarty replied, his voice deadly calm, "Just everything you care about."  

Her face drained of color, eyes flicking toward the baby's room. 

Jim patted her on the shoulder, enjoying the effect he had, "Truly, we don't need to be enemies." He leaned in and began whispering, "Actually, I quite like you. But you killed something I love. Something I rightfully _own_. Excuse me if I'm a _bit_ upset."

As he strolled out, Mary released the breath that had been hiding in her chest. She trembled; even with all of that unflappable assassin training, Jim had been the one to show her what _real_ intimidation was. While she was quite confident in her abilities, she had far more faith in Jim's ability to make good on any threats, no matter the cost to himself. _Truly, he is a man with nothing to lose._

However, she took comfort in the fact she actually liked Sherlock, and wasn't about to repeat her homicidal performances. Especially since he had gone out of his way to ensure hers and her new family's safety. _What bothers me is the idea that Jim hasn't always been the most… stable_. She frowned; there wasn't much to do but hope the carefully constructed web of relationships around her would keep the peace between all parties: Jim's love for Sherlock would keep him from doing anything that might upset Sherlock; John's love for Sherlock would keep him from going after Jim… _it all has to work out, right?_

She didn't have much _control_ over the situation, _Anything I do, James will take as a threat… in the end, I must rely on Sherlock to keep me safe…_

It was interesting; never before had one person been so crucial to her life. _I guess I'm glad he survived…_


	8. Clarity

"Exactly how long were you standing in the entryway?" Sherlock asked, closing the bedroom door behind him. James was wrapped up in blankets, typing up a text to Lorna, "Long enough, dear." 

"To hear what, exactly?" 

"Mmm… you thought I was only with you for some base animalistic desire. A sort of spur-of-the moment whim of mine that grew into more."  

 _So almost the whole conversation,_ Sherlock sighed, still clutching the doorknob behind him, "Something like that." 

"You're wrong." James sent off the text, propping himself up on his elbows to look at Sherlock. 

"Excuse me?"

"It was always about _you_ , my dear. Not me."

"I don't follow." 

"I already loved you when we 'died.' No… I knew you were the only one for me for _years_ , all I needed was for you to _see_ it. For you to know as well as I did that we were _made_ for each other. I tried way back when with our little game, but you weren't ready yet. After we 'died' for each other, I decided it was time, and you just needed that extra push. Those two years were about _you_." 

Sherlock could think of nothing else to say besides, "Oh." _And I was paranoid about_ him _hurting_ me, "I've been stupid."

"Dead right. But I already said I forgave you. So come to bed."

"It's not my night to sleep." 

"Please?" 

"… Fine."

Turning off the light, he cuddled in, feeling James' arms wrap around his waist, pulling him close, "Thank you." 

It always amazed Sherlock how little it took to make Jim happy, _he is truly in love._ Sherlock always felt pangs of guilt and loneliness whenever he sent James to bed alone, but there was really no alternative. Unlike his beloved, the brunette simply couldn't sleep most days.

"How did it go with Mary today?"

"Hmm?" 

"Don't play dumb, I know you waited until I drew John out of the house."

"How could you tell?"

"You smell faintly of Claire de Lune and haven't mentioned being around any women today. Meaning you were hiding it. There's only one person's company you'd hide from me."  

"It went well."

"So she's alive?"

"Yes. And hopefully she'll stay that way."

"Oh?"

"Well, I'll only kill her if she hurts you. Which, darling, I really don't want."

Sherlock didn't know whether to be concerned or flattered, still getting a bit of pleasure whenever he was reminded that James stopped the excessive murders for _him_ , "Thank you…?" 

"Anything for you, my beloved." Jim pressed their lips together gently, "Truly."

"Sleep well."

He didn't sleep that night, his mind racing with all sorts of details and scenarios he had with particularly interesting cases. Occasionally he combed through his interactions with Mycroft and John, baffled at the differences in their reactions. But something was bothering Sherlock. 

"Jim, are you awake?" No response. _Shouldn't have expected any different, honestly._ He leaned upward and gazed at the resting planes of Jim's face, _I don't know what to think. Sometimes I wonder if this is the only time he's not hiding things from me. His job has to be a mystery by necessity — it's more fun for me that way. But the rest of him… I can never tell what he's thinking. Or when something is bothering him. Yet… he knows these things about_ me.

 _Is it because I don't love him as much? No… maybe I'm more reserved, but I think we both care the same. Am I just painfully unobservant?_ He sucked his bottom lip, _Yes. Maybe. But only when it comes to_ him _… because that's always been my fascination. I can't figure him out. The second I do, he's already changed, or five steps ahead. Even if I thwart his plans, it's because he was already on to the next thing._ Sighing out of weariness and contentment, he kissed James' forehead in a surge of admiration. 

"Mmm. Sherlock." Moriarty stirred a bit, curling into the detective's torso.

"James?"

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"You can go if you want." Jim yawned, making to go back to sleep.

"I think I'd rather stay here." 

"Okay." 

"Wait," Sherlock pleaded, trying not to sound too pathetic, "I need to ask you something."

"Make it quick, dear, I'm far too comfortable to stay awake."

"Today — that is, with John and Mycroft —"

"Honey, I remember what happened _a few hours ago_." James could tell this conversation was going to go on for much longer than he could justify attempting to sleep for. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, mildly annoyed with his partner's choice of sleeping habits, "Get to the point, or I will have to drug you."

It was somewhat unsettling that Sherlock couldn't tell if he was being serious or not — the tone of the possible threat was completely deadpan and unreadable. The brunette sat up to meet his partner's eyes, wrapping his arms around him. The scent of James' skin drove him insane, but now was not the time to get distracted. 

"I'd like to get married." Sherlock said, testing out the words. It was dark, but he could see the shadows of James' face go blank, as if shock was too soft of an emotion. 

"Married? To whom?" Moriarty asked, the impact of the statement and the lingering sleepiness preventing him from fully digesting the sentiment.

Sherlock had no such impediments, "To _you,_ doofus." 

"How… _ordinary_ , Sherlock." Was the first thing that came to James' mind, allowing his thoughts to seep out his mouth. Feelings hurt, Sherlock immediately went silent, laying back down, _I'm such an idiot, why did I think —_

"Wait. Sherlock." Moriarty whispered, coming out of his stupor, "Did you mean that?"

"No. Forget it." He curled up in the blankets, covering his face.

"Sherlock, don't do this."

"Do _what_?"

"Close yourself off."

Sherlock felt Jim's hand rest on the blanket covering his waist, murmuring in his ear, "Come back to me." It took a few minutes, but Sherlock was slowly coaxed out of his cocoon, "There you are." James smiled, kissing him gently, "Now, let's try that again."

"Fine."

"I'm sorry I was rude, I wasn't thinking properly."

"It's _fine_."

"Tell me why you're bringing this up now."

"I tried before."

"I remember, but you didn't pursue it." 

"No, I didn't."

"Why now?"

"It's important to me."

"We talked about this almost a year ago, Sherlock, do you remember?"

 _Quite well, in fact,_ he thought, recalling their text conversations, _I said I didn't want the normal things… Oh._ Sherlock frowned, _I_ said _I didn't want these things._ "There you go." Moriarty said, reading his face all too well, "I thought I was abiding by your wishes." 

"Well, let's recall: you mentioned a few kids, a 9-5 job, a minivan, and a _wife_." Sherlock said, stressing the last word, "I am having _one_ child, my job is unstable at _best,_ with absolutely no regular hours, I prefer to take taxis or walk, and as for a _wife…_ " He ran his eyes over James, "I think you can save me from that particular fate." 

Ringing silence fell over them as they tried to process all the Sherlock was asking for. _Why do I hesitate?_ Moriarty thought, _Isn't this what I always wanted? Forever with Sherlock?_ They kissed, _Oh right:_ _because I never thought it would happen,_ "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I'll marry you," James leaned his forehead against Sherlock's, " _Doofus_." 

 


	9. Scan

_St. Bart's maternity ward,_ Sherlock thought, _Never thought I'd be here…_ _in so many ways._ Lorna was laying on the table in front of him, slightly convex belly exposed. Sitting in a far corner, James thumbed through a magazine. _Twenty weeks along_ , he thought, _First ultrasound, and the first definitive time marker that we can determine sex._

"Wanna touch it?" She winked at the detective, pulling him out of his mind. "Sorry, what?" 

"Do you want to touch my stomach?"

"Why would I want to do that?"

"So you can feel the baby, _dummy_." 

_Apparently she picked_ something _up from Jim in class._ He didn't argue that he couldn't _actually_ feel the baby, and he'd just be touching Lorna's skin, he reached forward. "Fascinating." He said, somewhat removed. 

A nurse came through the door, wheeling a sonogram machine behind her, "Sorry for the wait!" Both James and Sherlock thought that she was far too cheery, but it was of little consequence. Sherlock recoiled his hands, allowing the nurse to prepare her, "And are we finding out the sex today?" The nurse asked, flashing a bright smile. 

"Of course!" James put the magazine down, popping up next to Sherlock, "Got to know what color to paint the baby's room, after all." 

"What do you hope it is?" Lorna asked, the nurse squeezing jelly on her rounded stomach. James grinned, locking eyes with Sherlock, "A boy." He winked, "We're a bit divided on the subject."

"Actually, I wouldn't know what to do with a girl," Sherlock said, letting his superficial charm show through to Lorna, "We've just divided naming rights that way. If it's a girl, I get to name her. If it's a boy… apparently, his name will be William Scott Moriarty."

"I'm still _thinking_ about that!" James said in his trademark singsong voice.

"Ooh, interesting wager." The nurse said, pressing the wand against Lorna's bump. 

"And if it was a girl?" Jim asked, genuinely curious. 

Sherlock bit his lip, _might as well tell him when he can't be his usual murderous self,_ "Irene."

"Imagine that." Moriarty's face didn't even twitch, but Sherlock detected a flash of danger, "Pretty name." _He just admires her…_ Jim thought, trying to subdue the pang of irrational jealousy, _She was quite clever. But I'm better. He knows it._

A few minutes passed, "Here we go!" The nurse said, a fuzzy picture displayed on the screen. 

Jim looked ahead in awe, seeing his and Sherlock's child for the first time. Even if the image was unclear, he couldn't help but feel the same surge of kinship he had when he was a little boy, hearing Sherlock's name for the first time. 

Sherlock had no thoughts, but was incredibly touched, somewhere in his abstract concept of self. 

"And the verdict is…" The nurse said, slowly moving the wand, "Boy!" 

Neither men showed much reaction: they were too consumed by the being itself. The heartbeat. The motion. A boy. 

Their son.

 


	10. A Holmes or a Moriarty?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I'm currently traveling across the country (I'm moving! Whooo!), so if there are errors, I apologize, I haven't slept too much in the past few days. Due to the previous chapter being super short, and y'all being such amazing readers, here's chapter 10 :) It's probably one of my favorites!

Time goes by mercifully slow. 

Slow enough to be enjoyed by the consulting pair, but quick enough that it didn't bore them. Over the course of a few weeks, Sherlock was completely moved in to James' (now _their_ ) house. Of the two bedrooms on the first floor, one becomes their shared room, the other into a chemistry lab for the detective. But domesticity didn't mean their separate work lives stopped. 

Moriarty orchestrated havoc, Sherlock pursued cases. Sometimes they overlapped, but Jim tried to be on his best behavior, avoiding outright murder as much as he could. He'd occasionally construct a murder that he thought his detective might enjoy, but otherwise didn't take it too seriously. 

The baby's room is on the second floor ("He'll thank us when he's older," Jim winked). The walls get painted blue, but the theme was decidedly polychromatic, as per James' overtly attuned innate sense of style. The furniture was made of darker wood to contrast the lighter blues, the baseboards and window sill were painted white to give a more "sky" feeling. The carpet was white, but treated with some intense stain-resistant wash. 

Despite being slow, there was still a lot to get done, and very little time to do it. Jim had taken charge in most of the proceedings, since Sherlock had had one too many run-ins with the baby-proofed cabinets. Preparing the house, getting supplies, offsetting work, or making sure the infrastructure of the criminal network could stand while raising a squalling infant were among James' top priorities. 

Today's activity was sorting through gifts, sent with care and gratitude from some of Moriarty's tamer clients (though, they didn't know it was _his_ baby). Well, _James_ was sorting through gifts and cutting tags off of the clothing items; _Sherlock_ was strewn out on the couch, arms crossed, watching TV, and listening Moriarty's lilting taunts. 

Holding up a blue singlet, James sighed dreamily, "Mmm… Maybe Moriarty-Holmes? Or Holmes-Moriarty? What do you think?" He snipped off the tags.

It was sometime around noon, and the summer heat was lulling them both into a drowsy haze; James had even forgone the suit for a t-shirt. Sherlock, who was lounging in a dressing gown, was only vaguely aware that James was talking about the baby's last name, "I don't have a say in the matter." 

"Oh, Sherlock, don't be like that! I just get the final say; your input is definitely worth something."

"It makes little difference to me."

"Fine, just 'Moriarty' then." James stuck his tongue out. 

"Me too?"

"Oh, Sherlock, don't be so pedestrian." 

"It's a legitimate question."

"I'd say we're both too late in our lives to change our names. We can be legally joined just fine without taking each other's names." 

" _Married_ , dear?"

"Yes, _married._ "

"You still seem resistant."

"Well, Sherlock, if I made the information public like that, you'd be a target."

"A target?"

"I thought we discussed this: my work is dangerous, and thus I have to avoid having my weaknesses easily available knowledge."

"No, that's not it."

"Oh?"

"We've been together four years now, James, I can tell when you're _lying_."

"Honest, Sherlock! I worry about you getting hurt. At least… outside _my_ orders."

The detective scoffed, "Yeah, right." 

"Excuse me?"

"I think we're beyond threatening each other. You know you can't hurt me: you care far too much."

For a split second, James considered the scissors in his hands, _Can't? Challenge me, will he? These are sharp enough to cause actual damage, and I'd have the element of surprise on my side, since he's utterly convinced I'd never hurt him, that arrogant —_ he widened his eyes in horror, dropping the scissors, _No, that isn't how I feel. Not anymore. I can't afford to think that way. I've moved past hating him for existing… for not being_ mine _…_  

He forced a smile, "Call it a term of endearment, my pet. Reminds me of when we first met…" But Sherlock had already tapped into the criminal's thoughts, and picked up the scissors, aware of the danger in challenging James, "Good to know your restraint holds true."

"Sorry."

"Not to change the subject, but I think you should stop trying to kill me." 

"But Sherlock, you love it!"

"It's fine when it's just me and you… and most of England. But what do we tell our son when he grows up and asks why you're still plotting my demise?"

"We tell him that daddy and daddy are on two different sides of a schism, but still love each other."

"He will have absolutely no chance of having healthy relationships."

"Did any child we might ever have, even if it weren't with each other?"

"Point taken." 

Sherlock let pause hang in the air, trying to get back to the original subject, "So what is it?"

"I… I don't know. Why do you care?"

"Because it's important to me, and I'm trying to figure out why it's a problem for you."

"It's just so —"

" _Ordinary?_ "

Moriarty's facial expression was hard to describe; Sherlock could only assume it was fear, almost seamlessly cloaked with annoyance. "Yes." He confirmed, tone as neutral as he could muster. But his mask was cracking.

"James… just because you're worried about being… _ordinary_ … doesn't mean you are. And that doesn't mean you have to avoid things for fear of it."

"I am _not_ ordinary!" 

"I know. Getting married won't change that."

"Look, I already agreed to it. I just don't like talking about it."

"Then you won't mind signing on the dotted line?" Sherlock produced the marriage certificate from his coat with a flourish, offering it and a pen to Jim, "Mycroft has agree to have these filed secretly, so there won't be some big public show of it. It'll just be official."

"Really? You want to do this now? I _just_ had thoughts about stabbing you!"

"I can't imagine a more perfect time for us."

"Are you going to introduce me to mummy and daddy Holmes?" He mocked, knowing how _boring_ Sherlock found his parents. He might call it all off if it meant never having to bring it up to them. _Think of how_ proud _they'll be, my sweet. How they'll want to_ celebrate _and fawn over us_.

But Sherlock called his bluff, "I'm sure that can be arranged; I've yet to tell them they have a grandchild on the way. Or that I've been in a serious romantic entanglement. I'm sure they'll be quite pleased. There might even be cake, so Mycroft will probably show up."

"Promise?" Jim asked, only half-sarcastic.

"Promise."  

Grumbling, James swiped the pen from Sherlock, signing as quickly as he could, the detective's signature already on it, "There." 

"Thank you." Sherlock gave the tiniest of smiles, all too aware that Moriarty was suppressing one of his own, "I think that's enough for now, don't you think?" He gestured to the gift pile that had been steadily shrinking. 

Jim scowled, but joined Sherlock in laying on the couch, "Do you have any idea the pull you have over me?" He grumbled, nuzzling in to the detective's shoulder. 

"I have a very long time to find out."

"Mhm." The criminal began falling asleep, "Holmes-Moriarty." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for it being so… cut-and-dry, but I honestly think this is how a Sheriarty marriage would go: I doubt Sherlock would care about a wedding-wedding. He doesn't really care about what others think, and he'd desperately want to avoid the publicity. But I could see him buying into the sentiment and bureaucracy of the thing.  
> Jim I could see being more lavish, but I doubt there'd be many people he'd want at his wedding anyway :P (actually, that applies to both of them). I'm sure he does want to marry Sherlock in some way, but it feels less important to him than other things.  
> Maybe later I might have them doing a small ceremony, elope-y, just the two of them. What do you think?


	11. Blue

"Ow, ow, ow, ow, _ow!_ " Lorna groaned, sucking down the painkilling gas from a tube. She was on a hospital bed, belly absolutely enormous, feet in stirrups, propped up on one elbow, other arm pressed against her lips with the dispenser. 

"Should you be taking that much?" Sherlock resisted the urge to grunt in pain, fingers being crushed by her free hand. 

"The nurse said, 'pace yourself.'" She fell on her back, letting out a small whine, "I'm _pacing_." 

 

* * *

 

 

Today was the big day. At about 3am, Jim got a frantic phone call from a panicked Lorna, reporting that she had begun contractions. It was a few weeks before the expected due date, but upon arrival at the hospital, the doctors informed them that there wouldn't be any complications. 

_Except birth._ Sherlock thought as Lorna was put on a gurney. Jim kissed him goodbye, "This is where I check out and sit in the lobby, dearest. Tag!" The detective was lead into the birthing suite with Lorna, but they were told there wasn't much to do until the contractions were a minute apart. 

Pain would be controlled as needed, but the very uncomfortable Lorna had refused an epidural, "I don't like needles." She winced. 

 

* * *

 

That was eleven hours ago; it was now 2pm, and sitting around was getting tiresome, "I don't understand why this is worth all of the effort," Sherlock said, perplexed why any one human being would go through such incredible pain and hardship for another, _She_ must _be a client. She_ must _have some extraordinary debt to repay._

"Gosh, you're as clueless as Mr. Moriarty said." She gave a lighthearted laugh that quickly turned into an _ow_.

"Oh really? What does dear Jim say about me?"

"I'm teasing. He _adores_ you, that much is obvious."

"That doesn't explain why you're doing this for him." 

"Actually, it does."

"I'll accept being dense if you'll give me the full explanation." 

"I'm not sure I can, but for _you_ , I'll try."

She sat up again, giving herself a moment to gather the words, "Well, I'm not _exactly_ sure when you met Mr. Moriarty, but I can estimate you began dating about four years and a half years ago." 

_Wow, spot-on. But we_ met _more like 5 and a half years ago…_ Sherlock tried not to have too many thought segues, "How did you know?" She chuckled.

"Because a little before that, he actually started acting cheerful."

"Oh?"

"Yes! I'm not sure how well you knew him before, but… he was always so… detached." 

_No kidding._

"I'm not sure what he's told you about _me_ , but… well, it probably wouldn't surprise the great Sherlock Holmes to hear that I had a bit of a crush on him when we first met… It was about eight years ago now… I was eighteen, just started college, with dreams of being an English major… and then I found out the adviser for the mathematics department was _him_ … My passions changed _very_ quickly." She gave a self-admiring smirk, quickly replaced by agony as she spasmed forward, " _Ouch!_ "

"It certainly adds an air of comedy to your confession. You should take this on the road." Sherlock allowed himself to enjoy the moment — jealousy wasn't applicable here, she clearly wasn't a threat, never had been. Really, he just wanted to hear more about Jim.

"Ha. Ha." Lorna added mirthlessly, "Well, I became a maths major, and was actually delighted when I realized how _difficult_ it was; it meant more time with my adviser, who happened to be a tutor _and_ the advanced geometry teacher. Of course, I wasn't anywhere near that level yet, but Mr. Moriarty didn't seem to mind helping… but he wasn't exactly _thrilled_ , either.

"It was no matter, though… I was blinded by my crush, and so were many, _many_ others. We should've started a club for all the little freshmen, obsessed with the 29-year-old genius-hottie." She stuck her tongue out, "But I'm sure _you_ of all people, already — _ow_ — understand _why_ he's such a great catch."

Sherlock smiled; it wasn't exactly _pride_ , but he was invigorated by a mild ego-boost knowing that Jim had picked him, despite the ample options. 

"Cept, you know… soon, it became clear Mr. Moriarty wasn't about to date his students… though, I long suspected if our male compatriots showed similar interest, we might see a different outcome." Her joking smile quickly formed creases of pain, " _Ow! …_ And then one night, a year or two later, I went to his office to ask a question… and _your_ face was in the newspaper article he had open. But yours wasn't the important feature, no — it was _his_. That look in his eyes… it was only there for a split second before he saw me, but it was _there_. It was a gaze I was all too familiar with. He was _absolutely_ _in love_ with you.

"For a while, I was _resentful_ … what could this faux-celebrity possibly mean to Professor Moriarty that I couldn't?" She scowled, but her face easily softened, "But I grew out of it. Instead, I focused on how _giddy_ he was. He wasn't very forthcoming, but I _assumed_ it was because of _you_. This made me happy, and I was determined just to offer my support. So I did, by not saying anything. Then, with a year left on my degree, the most curious thing happened — _Ow._ " She took a moment to breathe through the contractions. 

"He announced he was taking a break from teaching… _to spend more time with his loved ones._ But he didn't have any family that I had seen — no pictures of anyone in his office — so I knew it had to be his 'mystery lover.' Before he left, I confronted him on it. I told him everything I had gathered, that I was happy for him, and — _ow_ — that he should never hesitate to ask me _anything_ if I could ever help him. In turn, he said nothing. But the next day I had a rather prestigious engineering internship… I'd like to think it meant he was — _ow_ — grateful someone had seen through his mask… and I also saw he probably hadn't ever gotten support like that before — _ow!_ "

Something in that last sentence struck Sherlock — Jim's _desperation_ to be seen. To not be _alone_. He might've had _genuine_ fondness for Lorna; the possibility hadn't even occurred to Sherlock.

Of course, she hadn't gotten the full story — she missed the whole "criminal mastermind" part — but she had _seen_ his _feelings_.

"We kept in touch, a text here or there, he made sure I was — _ow_ — doing well. I'd occasionally ask him about you, but he always kept it vague… I knew you two were still together, but he was very private about it all. _Ow…_

"But to answer your question, Mr. Holmes… I'm doing this because I know you've made him happier than he's ever been. I _watched_ it happen. You ignite that spark in his heart — one we all search for. He deserves that after being alone so long."

"And the fact you're still enamored with him." Sherlock said matter-of-factly; it wasn't even a question. 

She blushed, "Can you blame me?" Sherlock smirked, "It's a shame we haven't spent more time together."

Smiling brightly, Lorna opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a thunderous scream, " _Aggggghhhhhhh!_ "

It was loud enough to call the nurse over, who then informed them that it was time to get to doctor for delivery. 

 

* * *

 

James sat in the waiting room, re-reading every email he had gotten for the past month. Initially he had been rocking a little, trying to soothe his quickly fraying nerves. But it had been twelve hours, and he was beginning to get bored. _No matter how huge of an event this is, it shouldn't be taking this long._

Yes, on average, labor could go on anywhere from ten to twenty hours, and had the potential to go on for _more_ than a day. But Moriarty had just been sitting for those hours, having forced Sherlock to take side-along birthing duties. 

He didn't want to _leave_ for any reason, lest he risk missing his child's first moments in life, but there was only so many texts he could send, magazines he could read, nails to be chewed… 

"James." It was a barely audible whisper, but Moriarty picked up on his detective's voice with ease. He nearly leapt up and strode toward the entrance to the back office. 

Sherlock came out, positively beaming, a small baby blue bundle of blankets in his arms, "I was able to steal him away for a moment — they'll be putting him in the nursery shortly, but I insisted you get to hold him first." 

"Right you did." Shaking slightly, Jim outstretched his arms, transferring the baby from Sherlock's grasp. He was surprisingly light, and Moriarty couldn't comprehend that he was holding a small human being, it was more like a pet. "Nice to meet you, William."

As he cooed, the little boy opened his eyes, taking in James' face for the first time, appearing to be mesmerized by the criminal's features. Jim peered back into the light cerulean orbs, both his body and mind unable to find the right words to describe his joy. All he could think to say was, "Oh, good. He's got your eyes." 

"There's nothing wrong with yours."

"No, but I always imagined if I had you killed, I'd gouge out your eyes and keep them in a jar as a memento… Now I don't have to ruin that perfect face to see them every day."

"That's… probably the sweetest thing you've ever said."

"I know, dear." 

They spent a few minutes just staring at William, entirely absorbed.

 


	12. News

"You promised!" James crooned, setting William down in his crib. It was the first day home from the hospital, and Sherlock vaguely remembered that he was supposed to tell his parents about the _family_ situation when they finally got back home. 

"We've only been home _twelve minutes_ , after two days in the hospital, is this absolutely necessary _now_?"

"I know you, darling, when you want to do something, you don't let _anything_ get in your way." James lead them out of the baby's room, carefully as possible to prevent waking him. 

Sherlock scowled and pulled out his phone. He had a new text message:

 

_Hope all is well and William likes his new home :) -L_

 

He had covertly gotten Lorna's number, promising to text her every now and then, _She isn't quite as vacant as I originally thought… her insights into James have proven useful._

 

_Seems to be adjusting well. Already asleep. Again, thank you so much. -SH_

 

"Fine. I'll send them a text." Sherlock descended the stairs and sat on the living room sofa. Moriarty followed. 

"I don't think you can accurately convey all that's happened in a _text_ , dear."

"You underestimate me." Sherlock gave it some thought, "'Dear mum and dad, just thought you should know I got married a few months ago and just brought our new baby home from the hospital. See you on your next vacation. Sherlock." 

Now it was James' turn to scowl, "You know how _wrong_ that is, right?"

"You like it."

"Just a little." Jim sat next to him and stole a kiss before the detective knew what hit him, "But I _really_ think you should call." 

"You just want to increase the chances of meeting my parents." 

"Could be an ulterior motive, dear."

James leaned in for another kiss, but Sherlock pushed him away, "Oh no, I know what happens if I let you follow through on that." 

 _Oh, that beautiful, devious smile_ … "It seems you're learning, my pet." 

"Took me long enough."

"Would you like your reward?"

" _No!_ "

Moriarty pouted, but then fluttered his eyelashes and put on the most angelic face he could think of, "Pleeeeaase call your mummy about this?" 

" _Fine_." He pulled out his phone and made to stand.

"Where are you going?"

"To call them. In private." 

"Awww, but Sherlock, they're my family too!"

"I don't need your running commentary throughout their call."

"I'll be quiet, I promise!" More eyelash fluttering.

"There is no arguing with you." Sherlock sighed and hit, "Call."

" _Holmes residence._ " Came the dulcet tones of his father. 

"Hello dad. Is mum there?" 

" _Sherlock! Good to hear from you! She's actually out at the moment, why?_ " 

"Ah, I had something to tell you… both of you."

" _Oh, is it important?_ "

"Uh, nope." 

Moriarty narrowed his eyes. Sherlock stuck his tongue out. 

" _Well then I can probably pass the message on, what's on your mind?_ "

"Um… well a couple things. One, I met someone."

 _Interesting_ , Jim thought, _Seems he loses his cold composure whenever he speaks directly to his parents… Have I found a link to humanity in my dearest sociopath?_

" _Finally!_ " His father chuckled, " _Good heavens, what's her name?_ " 

James' face fell, " _His_ name is James…" Sherlock said carefully, "And _recently_ … we got married." 

Stunned silence. Of course, Mr. Holmes had occasionally considered his sons might be gay, but when neither had shown interest in _anyone_ for more than 30 years, he had assumed they had no preference whatsoever, male or female. " _Married?_ " He asked, still in shock, " _Why didn't you tell us?! I know we would've come to the wedding!_ " 

"Ah, well. James and I aren't much for showmanship…" Moriarty silenced his giggles; their _entire_ _relationship_ was based on showy antics. "We just signed some papers. It was a very relaxed affair." 

" _Still! We should celebrate!_ "

"Um… I just said we didn't —"

" _Nonsense! We must! Oh, your mother will be so happy! You know, once I assure her you didn't exclude her from your wedding…_ " 

"About mother… there's _another_ bit of news that she might find… stimulating." 

" _Out with it! What, are you adopting a child?_ " 

"Err… no."

" _Oh, well, you don't need to —_ "

"We actually already have a baby…" 

James took this moment to walk away, giggling — the information had been passed on, and now he'd leave Sherlock to be regaled with congratulations and anger that he had kept it quiet. 

"The thing about loved ones, my pet…" he whispered as he glided up the stairs, "They like to be kept informed."

 


	13. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was at the suggestion of a fan, and I LOVED writing it!! Enjoy :)

Snuggled in bed, dark, warm. _I could die like this_ , Moriarty nuzzled closer to Sherlock, wincing when his love's text chime went off.

His mood immediately changed when Sherlock groaned in agony, "They've invited us to dinner."

"Oh! What should I wear?" That perked him right up. 

"We're _not_ going." 

"Aww, Sherlock, why not?" James whined.

"Because they want to make it into an actual _family gathering_."

"What's wrong with that?"

"My brother will be there."

"All the more reason!" 

"Is it even _possible_ for you two to get along?"

"I can be civil if the Iceman will be. And he's such a goody-goody, I doubt he'd fight in front of mummy. I'm more concerned that _you two_ will have problems." 

"We always fight. Then there's cake. It's always the same, my parents are used to it."

"Then I don't see the issue." 

Sherlock scowled, "They live in America." 

"So?"

"I'd have thought the Atlantic Ocean would be enough to significantly decrease visits."

" _Decrease_ , yes, but not make impossible." Moriarty laced his fingers into Sherlock's curls, "Come on, we can go next month when William's had some time to adjust."

Sherlock dragged a pillow onto James' face, "Go to sleep." 

"Now you're just trying to change the subject." Came Jim's muffled voice. 

A month passed. Two. James would ask about dinner plans every day. Eventually Sherlock gives in, and Moriarty books the tickets out. 

 

* * *

 

One of James' cars came to pick them up from the airport. He didn't have a refuge flat in Oklahoma; it wasn't a terribly interesting place, but they had rented a rather large hotel room. They settled in, put their luggage away, made sure William was clean, and got ready for the evening. Sherlock wasn't exactly _dreading_ it, but he wasn't keen. He hadn't told anyone, but he and Mycroft suffered in silence. 

 _It was_ his _idea_ , he thought wistfully, _Stupid Mycroft, protecting the family name._ Their parents hadn't been _abusive_ , but they might as well have been shadows while the boys grew up. Sure, they were affectionate and loving now, but Sherlock strongly suspected it was due to the loneliness they suffered since moving to America. _Must be difficult to go from being high-class socialites to a pretentious retired couple where the Holmes name carries no weight_. 

They got back in the car, headed to the somewhat familiar address. William was babbling against James' chest, shifting a bit in his harness. Moriarty entwined their hands — he didn't know what was going on in the detective's head, but he could sense his apprehension. Soon, they had arrived, and Sherlock guided Jim through the gate and garden. 

This wasn't the Holmes' family manor, the house Sherlock and Mycroft grew up in. _No, that place was poisonous._ He recalled, trying hard not to grimace in disgust. 

The walls at the ancestral palatial estate were all white, with stone fences, ivy growing on them, so carefully placed and maintained. Acres and acres of land, there were stables there, even though the horses were long gone. When Sherlock's parents retired, they decided to move to Oklahoma, leaving the property to their eldest son, Mycroft, as was tradition. 

Whether or not Mycroft actually lived there was another story — Sherlock had never bothered to verify, but knew the servants and maintenance staff were still quite active. 

No, the house in front of them was red, and reasonably sized; much better suited to be a family home. At least, in Sherlock's opinion. He didn't care for the large estate for many reasons, but he long suspected it contributed to some of his issues. 

Before he was dead-set on his alone time, that all other human beings were pointless, the boundless space and empty corridors made him feel isolated. Mycroft had grown a hard shell to their neglect and stuffy upbringing by _becoming_ it, but Sherlock had absolutely no desire to become that kind of person. Or even return to his childhood home. He was determined to give William more than that. 

"This is our last chance to run away." He drawled, pausing as they reached the welcome mat. 

"Wouldn't dream of it, my dear." 

Sherlock sighed and begrudgingly knocked on the door. 

An elderly woman answered the door, large smile planted on her face, "Sherlock!" _I can already see a certain family resemblance_ … Moriarty thought. 

"Mikey is already inside." She hugged her son, then turned her face to meet James', "And this must be your husband."

"Yes, yes. Mother, this is James Moriarty. Jim, this is my mother, Violet Holmes." 

She held out her hand loftily; Sherlock noted that if there wasn't a small child strapped to the front of James, she would have gone for a hug. _Probably for the best she doesn't…_ he wasn't quite sure how James would take a hug in this situation. 

"Please, call me Jim." He flashed his million-dollar smile, shaking Mrs. Holmes' hand with vigor.

Then after a beat, her eyes fell to Moriarty's chest, where William was quietly resting. 

"Is that…?" Mrs. Holmes gestured to the baby, unable to finish her sentence.

"Would you like to hold him?" Moriarty offered, removing the child from his harness. While she was distracted, James' face turned devious as he mouthed, " _Mikey?!_ " In mock-disbelief. Sherlock almost burst out in laughter. 

Mrs. Holmes was beside herself — she was in tears, one hand over her reddening face, nearly hyperventilating. 

"Honey, why don't you let me hold him?" Mr. Holmes offered, appearing next to her. She vehemently shook her head, speechless with joy. 

Jim cast Sherlock a look, practically sending him a telepathic message: _See? This is beautiful._

"Sorry if my son's manners have currently escaped him, but you must admit, this child would make _anyone_ forget!" The older man said, holding out his hand, "I'm Siger Holmes, Sherlock and Mikey's father." 

"Jim Moriarty." The handshake resolved quickly, Siger turning it into a small hug. James went along with it while Violet was full-on weeping. 

 

* * *

 

The five of them entered the house, and immediately Jim was struck by how _homey_ it all felt, _So this is what normalcy looks like. Who knew?_ He entwined his fingers with Sherlock's, the latter of whom had become fixated on the infant, still in Violet's arms. 

They were lead into the living room. It was quaint, fluffy chairs and couches, a fire roaring in the fireplace. It felt very comfortable, except for the MI6 operative sitting farthest from the door, a glare poorly covered by a cheesy smile. "Mikey! Look who made it!" 

"Charmed." Mycroft said, clearly straining to maintain his icy composure. 

It had taken much cajoling, but the Holmes' parents would _not_ take no for an answer when it came to Mycroft's appearance at the family dinner. Unable to come up with a reason he couldn't show up (besides "work," which his parents argued he must've had plenty of vacation days saved up — he did), and the fact he couldn't help but keep up the appearance of being the "good" son, he obliged. 

However, he had made a point not to have his scotch glass empty the whole night. He took a long swig as everyone settled in for pre-dinner drinks. 

His parents had taken the sofa between him and the love-seat Sherlock (who had recovered William and was holding him tightly) and James had taken. 

 _Let's see what tactic he'll take_ , Mycroft thought, _Absolutely no chance he_ won't _try to get a rise out of me… Unfortunate I_ care _for Sherlock, really… I could have him arrested right here… mummy would be so disappointed as well, for ruining the evening…_

"So, Jim, how did you two meet? Sherlock hasn't told us hardly anything about you!" Siger cast a scolding look at Sherlock, who had preoccupied himself with trying to feed William. The bottle was smacked away, _Seems my looks aren't the only thing he inherited…little thing refuses to eat regularly._

"Mycroft introduced us, albeit indirectly." Jim shot the MI6 operative a sly look, "Sherlock was working on a case, and found some top-secret plans. He'd heard of my predilections, and thought I might find them… _amusing_." 

"Ah, yes, brother was always the precocious type." Mycroft's eyes had gone deadly dark. Until now, he could only _assume_ the Bruce-Partington plans had fallen into Moriarty's clutches. _Sherlock handed them over willingly?_ _I suppose I shouldn't be too shocked_ , "Your… compatibility, however, was _unexpected_ …" He put on a fake smile and addressed his parents, "Though, I always thought he and Sherlock had certain _similarities_." 

"Oh, so you two already knew each other?" Mrs. Holmes asked, genuinely curious.

"Knew _of_ each other. Quite well." 

"That's interesting! How?"

"Work." Mycroft's eyes were locked on Jim, voice strained. 

"Jim, you're in _government_?" 

"Ah, no, I'm afraid nothing _that_ ambitious." He gave Mycroft a taunting smile, "I'm more of an… _independent contractor_." 

"That's nice."

"Yes, we've had several run-ins with one another," Mycroft said, focusing on not breaking his glass, "We occasionally have _disagreements_ on how certain jobs should be carried out." 

"Oh no! Well, it must be difficult; you're both quite brilliant, I'm sure both of your ideas are equally valid." 

" _Occasionally_ ," Moriarty chided, "But more often than not, dear old Mikey is _persuaded_ to see things my way." 

"There's my humble boy!" Siger praised, but Mycroft was internally fuming. 

"Most of the time I am left no _choice_." The redhead smirked, "It's quite difficult, keeping _certain_ _things_ under wraps… I'm often forced into a corner to protect the well-being of those I care about." His eyes flitted between James and Sherlock, gaze resting on the baby for a fraction of a second. 

There was an uncomfortable pause, Jim correctly interpreting Mycroft's unspoken threat. _As much as I_ love _tormenting the Iceman… I have to think about protecting my own assets now…_ he nodded to the government agent, _Know when you are beaten._

"Actually, mummy," Mycroft's tone had shifted to that familiar high pitch Sherlock had heard growing up, whenever he was about to suggest to their mum that he be sent to summer school, "Primarily, _Jim_ is a professor at Cambridge." 

The informality of the name of his tongue was comparable to swishing with hydrochloric acid, _James Moriarty, dangerous terrorist, consulting criminal, murderer… is_ family _now._ Mycroft shuddered hard, _My brother-in-law. And father to my nephew._ His actual feelings for his nephew remained unclear, even to the introspective, self-aware Mycroft, _I've never considered that Sherlock might have children… there's been a distinct lack of young ones in my life._

For now, he assumed he was disinterested. _I'll have Anthea write up a card of congratulations at some point._

"Really? So was I, back before I had these two." Violet cast a fond eye on both of her boys, "What do you teach?" 

"I _taught_ geometry. But like you, I have at least temporarily retired from teaching to be with my family." He squeezed Sherlock's hand, who had been uncharacteristically silent the entire time.

"I taught _physics_!"

"Yes, you should talk maths together," Mycroft said, clearly pleased with himself, "Maybe show him your book?" 

"Oh, that old thing?" Mrs. Holmes blushed a bit, waving her hand, "It's nothing."

"I'd love to see it!" Moriarty managed enthusiasm — clearly, the eldest Holmes brother was trying to torment him by inflicting his mummy's "boring" life on him. _Unfortunately for you, Iceman, I actually enjoy what I do_. 

"Perhaps after supper," Mr. Holmes said, trying to hide his inability to discuss such genius things, "You're quite young to be retired — do you work at all on the side? Must be difficult having Sherlock's weird schedule on money matters." 

"Well, I still freelance a bit in the government department: they pay me _quite handsomely_." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mycroft twitch, "Teaching is more of a hobby than anything — it is but _one_ of my passions. Other than that, I own the house we're living in, so lodging will never be a problem."

"You're pretty well off then! I always assumed Sherlock could use someone just like you." 

"Like me?"

"Well, you're the normal one, aren't you?" 

The corners of James' mouth twitched downward, but he maintained his playful smile. But Sherlock knew better — the word "normal" was somewhat of a trigger, even if his father had only meant the best. _As the normal one of the Holmes family, he was hoping I'd bring_ someone _to keep him company…_

"I sincerely doubt that… " Jim considered his words, "Sherlock wouldn't be happy with someone _normal_ , wouldn't you agree?" 

"I suppose I do!" Siger mused, "Oh well, I guess it's still only me."

"Siger!" Violet reprimanded teasingly. 

 _It's interesting, having a laugh at his expense,_ Moriarty thought as the whole room laughed (albeit Mycroft's was clearly strained), _Not because of the usual reasons… but because it feels so… natural._

_Like actual family._

 


	14. Epilogue: Forever

"Look at that little face," Jim said, cradling William, bottle pressed to the baby's lips, "He might actually be cuter than both of us." It had been the first day back from Sherlock's parents' home, and they were putting the baby to bed.

"Trying to make me insecure, James?" 

"Not at all. He's half _you_ , you know." He kissed the infant's nose, "Actually, I think he's a fair bit more than _half_." 

It had been about two months now, and some of the child's features had become more prominent — he had Sherlock's black hair and blue eyes… as far as could be discerned, he was a miniature of the detective. Yet, if one looked closer, it was clear that William hadn't inherited the detective's curly hair; rather, it was wavy, just as Jim's was when he wasn't slicking it back. 

"I don't think he's hungry." Sherlock gestured toward the untouched bottle. Moriarty sighed, setting it on the chest of drawers, "He's just being stubborn. Oh well. It's bedtime anyway." 

Sherlock leaned against the wall and slid down, settling on the floor next to the crib, sighing, "It's been a _long_ few days."

"Mmm. Meeting your parents and all." Jim set their son down in his cradle, winding up the mobile, "I never thought I'd be so domestic." He knelt down and rested his chin on the side bars, watching William fall asleep. 

"I never thought I'd _enjoy_ being domestic."

"You know that's what I meant." James' voice lowered as to not disturb the child.

"So you enjoy it, then?"

"Quite."

"Having a family?"

"No."

" _No?_ "

"I don't enjoy having _a_ family, Sherlock. I doubt I'd be interested in anyone else's. No, I love being part of _yours_. Well. _Ours_." 

"The idea has _never_ appealed to you otherwise?" 

James sighed, "As you might have been able to tell, my blood family was painfully dull. And that was _before_ my mother was murdered by my bastard father, who proceeded to go to jail. But I never mourned _that_ loss. I always dreamed of _more_ … finding someone I could _actually_ _relate_ to. I was _stuck_ with _them_ , Sherlock, but in my mind, ever since I heard your name… I knew it had to be you."  

The detective tugged Moriarty toward him, "Get down here." James grinned and joined him on the ground, leaning against Sherlock, "I love you." 

"I love you, too." James returned, "We were meant for each other, Sherlock."

"I know that now." He chuckled, "Sorry it took me so long to figure it out."

"I told you, my dear, I forgive you." 

"I still can't apologize enough." 

William hiccuped and Moriarty's eyes went wide, shooting Sherlock a look that roughly translated to, _Wake the baby I will have half of London wiped out._ But his voice was still quiet and calm, "Maybe we should move this conversation elsewhere." the detective nodded in assent. 

As it turned out, there wasn't much to say. Whatever was between them was known; their brains were no longer separate, information flowed between them like shared oxygen. 

They settled into bed, stripping of the unnecessary clothing. James nestled into Sherlock's arms, head resting on his chest, "Forever?"

"That was roughly my request, yes."

"How am I doing so far?" 

"Perfect."

"Mmm… Our family."

"Forever." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny thing, this was meant to be the end of the series. It's a nice little wrap-up, don't you think? Turns out I didn't have it in me, as I started having IDEAS as I was posting this story. 
> 
> As always, comments, reviews, new ideas, anything! are appreciated <3


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